Having fun with IOUs in California

To the left you can see a registered warrant that happens to be an IOU, in the state of California. You might ask yourself, isn't a warrant something that a court will issue for your arrest for some type of crime? Yes it is, but for those of you new to the wonderful world of California world of finance, a "registered warrant" is actually what most of us would think of as a "check," something which, normally, you could deposit in a bank.

However, if you look carefully at the picture to the left, you might notice that there are several words that differentiate this registered warrant from a check, due to the following words: "This Registered Warrant will be honored on or or after 10/2/09." Aha, that is what separates this warrant from a check, because this means that this check cannot be deposited in a bank account until 10/2/09, unless, of course, you are one of the lucky ones who has a bank that will actually take this things as payment. After July 10, a number of these elite institutions, which exist to protect and serve us all, as I discussed in my previous blog, have said that they will no longer accept such "instruments" as payment. So, one might ask, if I have been paid one of these glorious-looking pieces of paper by the state, what can I do?

Do not fret, my fellow Californians, the IOU Stressbuster is here. (I was thinking of analogizing this to "Ghostbusters," which came out in 1984, but since many of my potential readers are too young to remember this, I will not dwell on this point). So, here are some of my IOU Stressbuster solutions:

1. You may be one of the fortunate ones whose banks might opt to accept one of these sharp-looking pieces of paper as payment anyway. Le chayim! (which means to life in Hebrew). Life is good, so fret no longer.

2. The state of California has indicated that those who wish to pay their bills to the State of California may be able to take an IOU, and, voila, send it back to the State to pay their bills. The thought of doing this is delicious. Just imagine if the State of California owed you some money, and sent you, say, $30,000. What if, for example, you were a tax cheat and you owed the state of California, say, $500,000. If you were exceptionally shrewd, you could turn around and send them some of this "funny money" that you had recently received from the state back to the state in payment of your debt. But, you might ask, how can you get away with paying the state "funny money" for 30K and thus shorting the state by 470K? The answer is that with the state laying off tons of workers, and "furloughing" other workers for two or three days a month (i.e giving them unpaid leave so they can spend quality time with their families, while they are scrounging for leftover food in dumpsters since they will have virtually no money on which to live), the state audit division is probably low on employees, so, if you are really lucky, they won't notice. If they do notice, and you end up in with an immense amount of fines and penalties, you can at least be satisfied that you did your best to "take one for the team."

3. The "secondary market" option--This means that there may be people that actually want to buy and sell these warrants/IOUs. So, in other words, somebody might buy your warrant for a discount, and then sell it for a markup later on. Or, if you want to try out a different kind of "secondary market" a try, you might want to consider using an illegal poker game as a market, especially if you have lots of rich friends who have lots of money to "burn," just as many of us feel "burned" since we have to put up with this nonsense. Let's say that you enter a high-stakes poker game, and you decide to go for it, by putting up an IOU for your bet. If somebody is stupid enough to take your bet, and you lose the bet, voila! Just hand them the piece of paper, and tell them that it is a warrant, from the state of California. Remember, per our economics lesson above, all items that look like checks from the state of California actually are called warrants. However, as we know, in regards to IOUS, in this case, just because it "walks like a duck," and, in this case, it definitely smells like a duck, it may not be a duck at all, because warrants that are IOUs are not treated by banks like checks unless, you are lucky enough to have a bank that does treat the warrants which are IOUS as checks, even though they are not really checks.. Are you confused yet? I know that I am, as well as probably most people in the Great State of California. Anyway, this betting strategy is worth a try, but, just in case the people you are playing are the impatient, unfriendly, possibly violent kind, make sure that you bring your best running shoes with you to the poker game, so that you can make a timely escape if that is what the situation requires.

4. If you are one of the unfortunate ones who are stuck with many warrants/IOUS, you might consider using the warrants to construct a model of a house, since you may be among these who have found that they cannot afford the house that they are living in, meaning that such a paper IOU/warrant house is the fanciest house you will ever be able to afford. Be careful when you build your IOU/warrant house that you do not unduly damage the IOU/warrants too much, so you don't have excess damage to your house of cards/IOUS/warrants/checks when it tumbles to the ground, just as the economy of our state has being doing lately.

5. Another possibility is neatly stacking your warrants/IOUS in a vertical manner, such that the warrant/IOUS can be used as the modern equivalent of a domino rally, where the warrants can be neatly aligned all over your living room, so that as soon as you knock over one warrant/IOU, all rest of the fall over in a properly synchronized fashion. If you are really clever, you can set up your warrant/IOUS all over your residence, so that, once you have perfected your techniques, you can have the pleasure of watching the warrant/IOUS/checks (maybe) beautifully undulating everywhere you look.

6. Having IOU/warrants can be of great assistance in maintaining a clean and healthy lifestyle. You can use the IOUs to clean your shaver, and, if you cannot afford a vacuum cleaner, and perhaps, even a broom, you can use the warrants to scoop up any refuse and carefully empty it into any nearby trash bags. Remember, however, to keep the IOU/warrant in a clean and sanitary condition, in the event that you intend to have an alternative use of the IOU/warrant in the future.

7. Finally, an IOU/warrant is a fine idea for a gift. Imagine what pleasure you can give to your aunt in Wisconsin, if, in the event that you cannot afford a gift for her this year, since you have no money, you can just take the warrant, put it an envelope, and send it to her. Or, when Christmas or Hanukah rolls around, in December, since the economic situation in California may still be unresolved at this time, an IOU/warrant is truly a gift that keeps on giving.

Happy IOU Stressbusting!

Surviving in the land of IOUS

It is not easy living in California these days. Everyone is depressed and nervous for good reason. Would you accept this thing as payment?

But, let's try to look at the bright side of all of this. I am trying to do my best to make people that I meet feel good about themselves. It's not easy, but it's worth a try.

A couple of days ago, I walked into my bank, currently known as Chase Manhattan, previously known as Washington Mutual, known before that as Great American Federal, and before that, who knows? I have only lived in San Diego for twelve years, so I would have to turn to the old-timers, who might remember the beginnings of this fine institution. Anyway, I walked up to the teller to make my deposit, and I observed that this woman, probably about age 50 or so, looked quite depressed. That is hardly a surprise based on her employer's emergence from the ashes of the previous incarnations of this financial, ex-high flyer, which has lived to enjoy another day thanks to the devoted attention of we, the loving taxpayers. Unlike our financial institutions, the only stimulus packages that we have, are......I don't want to lose my G rating, so I will stop there.

This teller was quite down, perhaps because, as one Chase Home employee confided in me, her employer was trying to maximize their return on investment by several astute moves, including, first of all, taking away some of the earned vacation of some of their employees. I think that was a clever move. After all, why should we, the taxpayers, pay for time given to their employees, who are overjoyed to have this job, when they are, gasp, not working hard enough to keep us, the customers, happy?

Another brilliant move, from what I was told, is that their employees were asked to no longer have water bottles at their desks. After all, if I have come to the bank to deposit my hard-earned paycheck, watching an employee drink from a water bottle could get me so upset that I might walk away from this bank and take my multi-dollar accounts to other elite institutions across the street. Another reason for this move could be that a customer might surmise that perhaps the employees might fill their water bottle with hard liquor, and then take the liberty of swigging it while we, the customers, would watch in horror.

Finally, back in the good old days, when this bank was known as Washington Mutual, the bank decided to take away all of the safe deposit boxes of their customers in most locations. Again, a truly outstanding move. Apparently, the reason for this move was to maximize the business potential in every square inch of every branch. All that newly gained space may have contributed to the fact that the geniuses running this bank invested millions of dollars in either loans that people could barely afford, or, perhaps, placing bets, known as "reverse credit swaps," (with the entire civilized and uncivilized world's economy as collateral), that these people taking on these loans would (would not?) be able to pay their mortgages. Thanks to this move, I was forced to either take my multidollar contents of my safe deposit box and put them under my mattress, or, take my safe deposit box elsewhere. I opted for option number number two, where I got the pleasure of paying a fee for the privilege of using of another elite institution's safe deposit box.

I do feel bad picking on this institution, because it is probably no worse than the other ones, and I do appreciate that they have stuck with me for all of these years, but there are a couple of other interesting moves they have made. On the one hand, one of my accounts went below their minimum, and hence I was charged a fee for something like "inadequate balance maintained." . However, I was using another account to fund this account, and I made such transfers so often that my other account I was charged an "excess activity fee." I was told that to avoid such fees, I could make such transfers either with the teller doing the transaction , or by using an ATM machine. I suppose that this move was to prevent me from trying to do an online transaction and then suffer the indignity of being unable to access my bank account in the event some catastrophe stopping the Internet from functioning, such as the recent passing of Michael Jackson. I feel good though; I am just doing my little part to help this bank be successful in such a difficult time.

Anyway, the woman teller was wearing a very sharp looking Chase Manhattan shirt, blue with a couple of buttons and a nice collar. I complemented her and told her, "Hey, things can't be that bad. After all, you are wearing a nice shirt with Chase Manhattan insignia." Alas, she told me that her nice new shirt was actually torn in a couple of spots, and that one of the buttons was coming off, which lead me to thinking, how many times a week do these employees have to wear these shirts? Do the employees get a new shirt to wear every day, or do they have go home every night, to wash the one shirt that they have been issued, and then repeat this ritual every day to the point where their shirts start falling apart and become shabby-looking? I am afraid to inquire more into this, so I have let this one go.


Anyway, as you probably can guess, the morale of this story is : Accentuate the positive. Do your best to cheer up everyone you meet, even bank employees. You might try to do your best Michael Jackson dance moves in the bank lobby, by doing some spins, standing on your tip toes and doing some Moonwalking. You will definitely put on the smile of everyone in the bank (except for, perhaps the security guards, who might, unfortunately, deduce that you are a threat to the bank in light of your behavior, and arrest you, or even shoot you. ) But, do not fear. America will survive this economic meltdown, as long as we and all consumers keep a smile on our faces, and, as the old saying goes, "Don't let'em see you sweat."

Getting older

When I'm Sixty Four (64)
~ The Beatles

When I get older losing my hair,
Many years from now.
Will you still be sending me a valentine
Birthday greetings bottle of wine.

If I'd been out till quarter to three
Would you lock the door,
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four.

You'll be older too,
And if you say the word,
I could stay with you.

I could be handy, mending a fuse
When your lights have gone.
You can knit a sweater by the fireside
Sunday mornings go for a ride.

Doing the garden, digging the weeds,
Who could ask for more.
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four.

Every summer we can rent a cottage,
In the Isle of Wight, if it's not too dear
We shall scrimp and save
Grandchildren on your knee
Vera, Chuck & Dave

Send me a postcard, drop me a line,
Stating point of view
Indicate precisely what you mean to say
Yours sincerely, wasting away

Give me your answer, fill in a form
Mine for evermore
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four.


I just turned fifty-six, and my kids all had their birthdays in May and June, so I have had a lot of opportunities to consider the implications of getting older. I used to hate birthdays because they would simply be another reminder that I am getting older, with all of the negatives one thinks of when one thinks about being older: including, but not limited to, being less able, being physically ravaged, being easily tired, being burned out, leading a boring existence, having less energy, and so on. My brother's death four months ago, at age 43, changed all of that. Now I look at each birthday as a blessing, and I find myself caring less that I am getting "older."

For one thing, having three "kids," ages 25, 23, and 21, living in my house, keeps me young. As a parent, this is a great time, because my kids can hang out together, play basketball together, and, all in all, get along with each other about as well as they ever have. When they were little, my wife and I, like perhaps all parents with several kids close in age, dreamed that they would be life-long friends with each other. Then, as they got older, there were periods where such a long-term relationship seemed to be a silly dream of inexperienced parents. Now, that they are turning out to be handsome young men who conduct themselves well with most people and in most situations, I am just pleased that they are interacting with each other, for the most part, in a calm, mature and meaningful manner.

Also, interacting with my brother and sister feels a lot different now. Neither has said explicitly said anything about this, but I think that each one of us probably has a new identity: survivor. For one thing, we never dreamed that our brother would pass away at age 43 of "natural causes," although dying of congestive heart failure at such a young age hardly seems natural at all. Also, as our parents have turned 81 and 83 this year, we all realize that it is only a matter of time before we will again be thinking of ourselves as survivors; the survivors of the White family, which will eventually shrink from an original total of four siblings and two parents, by half, to only three surviving siblings. I think no one in our family thought that death would visit us so quickly; perhaps we thought it might have happened by now to our parents, who appear to be in excellent health, but are nevertheless at an advanced age where death can make a quick and unexpected appearance. This experience has had a sobering effect upon all of us.

Another aspect of getting older is the physical changes that this is supposed to bring. My deceased brother, at 43, looked quite youthful, and could have been easily mistaken for being in his 30's. My surviving brother and sister have also been blessed by the fountain of youth. I have joked for years with my sister that every year, when I see photos of her entering a riding contest, it is difficult to tell the difference between her and the teenagers who are riding their horses.

As for me, I have looked middle aged for years, as I started losing my hair in droves when I was only 22. My wife insists that I look the same year after year. I like to think that she is flattering me, but when I see photos of myself from ten or fifteen years ago, it is hard to see the difference.

Getting older thus can have a varied impact based on the individual. Some people in their 30's could pass for being in their 50's or 60's; on the other hand, we saw a guest on the Bill Maher Show last weekend who said that he was 42, and I thought that he could have easily passed for 22.

The other thing about age that stands out in my mind is how different "old" people look, to us, depending on our own age. I remember, when I was 18, how I thought that people who were 30 were old, and people of my own age, 56, were REALLY old (in fact, they might as well be dead).

What did I think that I would be doing at age 56? Of course, I would be retired (fat chance of that ever happening), and I would look OLD and BORING, just like the old fishing guy in the picture above. So how does the old fishing guy look to me know that I am old?

For one thing, he has a heckuva lot more hair than I do. At age 18, I would have told you that the guy's hair looked terrible. Now, I look at that a lot differently, since I have no hair on top of my head (although my hair has a nasty habit of appearing on the back of my head, where I can't easily see it)

More important, do I feel "old," like the old fishing guy looks to me? No, in fact I know that I am much more knowledgeable, mature and wordly than I was at the age of 18. I am not sure who said the following powerful adage: Youth is wasted on the young. How true!

As I have said to my kids, I don't really believe that one gets wiser just because one gets older. I think it is more than that. Instead, I believe as one gets older, one has so many experiences that one starts to learn from experience, by spotting the same situations happening over and over.

Another thing that strikes me is that I have outlived a lot of people who were much younger than me, most notably, Michael Jackson. When he died recently, that was an incredible moment, which felt much like the death of JFK felt to me, as a nine year old, many years ago. I found out later on that the Internet was hit by massive shutdowns as a result of his death, which is hardly surprising. Although I was hardly a fan of MJ, and I am not one of the 1.6M people who applied for tickets to his funeral ceremony at Staples Center, I was, like everyone else, shocked and saddened by his death.

MJ's is truly a sad story: a person who was probably a genius at his craft, and was blessed by amazing talent, but also had a very sad life. He said that he never had a childhood, since his dad beat him into being a star at a young age, and it appears that this factor lead to his later abuse of drugs, and abuse of young boys. To me, the saddest thing of all is that, like Elvis, he is going to be doing much better financially now that he is dead, since, in life, he had massive debts, and limited income in recent years, but now, his estate will be the beneficiary of increased sales and interest in his legacy for many years to come.

It seems that in our country, we like to drag people down in life, and then have them ascend to sainthood in their death. I can accept that as talented as he was, he was, at a minimum, eccentric and a drug addict, and, at worst, abusive of other people in a variety of ways, including sexual abuse of children. It was said that for his childlike ways, he had his father's hard-nosed business sense, which led him to fire and rehire countless business associates over and over. Perhaps the worst abuse he engaged in was of himself, apparently dying as an emaciated, miserable figure that would take stimulants to motivate himself to continue to give great performances on stage, as he did in the nights before his death, and then take an overwhelming amount of narcotics to ease his physical and emotional pain. In summary, it appears that just as some people engage in suicide by cop, he engaged in the pathetic practice of suicide by rock star, following in the footsteps of other self-abusing musical giants such as Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, and Janis Joplin.

As tough as it is now to be living in an era of terrible unemployment and misery around the world, I feel fortunate to be here, and I am grateful for what I have. However, I must admit that I am sad that I have three kids that are living in a world of diminishing resources. Just as we have made tremendous strides in technology, with fantastic inventions such as the Internet and the Ipod, which have changed our life so much, we are seemingly going backwards in the necessities of life, as millions of people are unemployed. My hope is that, from the ashes of the present state of the economy, highlighted by a state, California, which is presently unable find a workable budget, the fortunes of people in America, and around the world, will rise once again as a new generation of brilliant innovators finds a way to create value out of the present void.

The King of Pain

King Of Pain lyrics, by Sting

There's a little black spot on the sun today
It's the same old thing as yesterday
There's a black hat caught in a high tree top
There's a flag-pole rag and the wind won't stop

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain

There's a little black spot on the sun today
That's my soul up there
It's the same old thing as yesterday
That's my soul up there
There's a black hat caught in a high tree top
That's my soul up there
There's a flag-pole rag and the wind won't stop
That's my soul up there

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain

There's a fossil that's trapped in a high cliff wall
That's my soul up there
There's a dead salmon frozen in a waterfall
That's my soul up there
There's a blue whale beached by a springtime's ebb
That's my soul up there
There's a butterfly trapped in a spider's web
That's my soul up there

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain

There's a king on a throne with his eyes torn out
There's a blind man looking for a shadow of doubt
There's a rich man sleeping on a golden bed
There's a skeleton choking on a crust of bread

King of pain

There's a red fox torn by a huntsman's pack
That's my soul up there
There's a black-winged gull with a broken back
That's my soul up there
There's a little black spot on the sun today
It's the same old thing as yesterday

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain

King of pain
King of pain
King of pain
I'll always be king of pain
I'll always be king of pain
I'll always be king of pain
I'll always be king of pain

I was just reading some comments to my previous blog, and I was fascinated by the comment that behind great humor there is always a great sadness. That provided me a strong connection to my late brother David's blogs, since his blogs could be hilarious, but also at the same time could be cruel, depressing, or infuriating.

I think of the song by Don McLean, "American Pie," where he speaks of "the day that the music died." When David died, in many ways, it felt like "the day that the blog died." I think of Jim Rome on his sports shows, where he always admonishes the listener,"to have a take and don't suck!" David always had a take, and his takes never sucked, since they were always honest, perhaps almost too honest, although they could be gross, dark, and relentless in their impact.

In our family, we all "tuned in" to David's blog, almost as if it was a weekly or semi-monthly TV show. David's TV show has been suddenly yanked off the air, and all of us former viewers have been suddenly left feeling a great void.

David's blog was many things, but dull was not one of them. My first reaction to his latest installment could, on the one hand, be as if someone had poured a hot cup of coffee in my lap, as his comments could be cruel and shocking. Alternatively, his blog could be like an extended cold shower, with a chilling dose of the sad reality that he felt was his life.

David was truly alive when he was blogging, playing his guitar, and recording his You Tube videos. David's mantra was that he was "the king of pain," and that he felt like "a butterfly trapped in a spider's web; That's my soul up there."

I recently watched a documentary about the film director, Sam Peckinpah, in which one of the commentators spoke of the sadness about how Peckinpah died at a relatively young age, due to his drug usage and alcohol abuse. The commentator spoke of how society values great artists because "they spend their lives dancing on the edge of a cliff," but when artists like Peckinpah fall off the cliff, like many artists do, they find that difficult to accept.

David, too, was an artist and he clearly relished the opportunity to dance on the edge of a cliff, throughout much of his life. Remembering the intensity of David's dramatic dances, and the emotional impact of those dances upon all of us who watched, makes it easier to accept that we will be deprived of the opportunity to see any more of his performances.

My Academy Awards Ceremony

Circle of Life” lyrics
Music by Elton John, lyrics by Tim Rice
Performed by Elton John

From the day we arrive on the planet
And blinking, step into the sun
There's more to be seen than can ever be seen
More to do than can ever be done

Some say eat or be eaten
Some say live and let live
But all are agreed as they join the stampede
You should never take more than you give

(Chorus)
In the Circle of Life
It's the wheel of fortune
It's the leap of faith
It's the band of hope
Till we find our place
On the path unwinding
In the Circle, the Circle of Life

Some of us fall by the wayside
And some of us soar to the stars
And some of us sail through our troubles
And some have to live with the scars

There's far too much to take in here
More to find than can ever be found
But the sun rolling high
Through the sapphire sky
Keeps the great and small on the endless round

(Chorus repeats)

On the path unwinding
In the Circle, the Circle of Life.



I would like to take this opportunity to have my own Academy Awards ceremony, in honor of my appointment at Scripps Clinic in San Diego, on Friday, April 10, for my first echocardiogram. Envelope please.

And now, the lifetime achievement award for: Best Actor in a Leading Role, Best Picture, Best Screenplay, Best supporting actor, Best Set design, Best Direction, Best Animation, Best Performance in a comic role, and Best Performance in a dramatic role, goes to:

My aorta and my heart. The room erupts in applause. The acceptance speech: “You like me, you really like me. (Sally Fields, for either Norma Rae or Places in the Heart, I can’t remember which).

I must admit that I have never really paid much attention to your years of hard work, your devotion to my survival, your tolerance of my good moods and my bad moods, as well as the stress I put you through in my athletic endeavors: my years in Little League (probably the highlight of my athletic career), my years of playing tennis (and endlessly annoying my parents in all of my misplaced shots bouncing off their heads and arms), my walking, running, sitting, sleeping, and all of the many activities I have engaged in where you, never, pardon the pun, “missed a beat.”

As I lay on the table, on my side, I had the pleasure of watching my heart on the monitor in glorious three-dimensional color, top view, side view, and other views, as I looked at the four chambers in thumping, head-pounding sound blasting through the speakers. I have heard hearts before, but only the baby hearts of my kids. To hear my old heart still pounding away was quite surprising and amazing. It certainly was nothing that I took for granted, after my brother’s tragic passing two weeks ago from congestive heart failure.

I also greatly enjoyed the instructions from the technician. He became frustrated at my taking in deep breaths and exhaling in big breaths. His choice was to tell me to take in half a breath, and then exhale half a breath. I work in accounting, so I tried to visualize what he was saying in numeric terms: each breath in would be equal to .5 times breaths (B), or, in algebra, .5B. Similarly, each breath out would be equal to -.5B, so, for each round of this excitement, the calculation would be .5B-.5B, or zero. Therefore, my entire session probably came out to be something like (30) (.5)(B)-(30)(.5)(B), or, put simply, zero. (Dad, I hope you are reading this, because I remember how you taught me algebra for Mrs. Champion’s class in 7th grade at Malaga Cove Intermediate School, and your asking what it would take for me to think in algebraic terms).

The most puzzling request from the technician was the one where he said “don’t breathe.” He said this repeatedly, after my engaging in the half breath in and the half breath out routine several times, in order to get a clear reading on the screen. I seriously pondered his request, and although I deciphered his true intention ("please breathe more quietly"), I thought about what it would take for me to truly quit breathing. I could try holding my breath, although I am not sure how long I could do that (one minute or two at most, although probably Michael Phelps could hold his breath a lot longer, not counting, of course, when he commits that great sin of using a bong). I also thought about getting one of those large plastic bags in the office and pulling it down around my head, just like you see in the gangster movies, where they cover up a bad guy’s head, pull down on the bag, and he dies seconds later). I decided that was not practical either, because I would have to unhook myself from the echocardiogram machine, which would really annoy the already irritated technician.

By the time I was through pondering these existential issues, the technician was relieved to tell me that the procedure was over. I pumped him for information, without success, but he finally relented and admitted that he was not wheeling me into the emergency room nor bringing in the cardiologist for an emergency consultation, so I am presuming that meant that the results were, at least, decent.

Seriously, 2009 has been a year of incredible highs and lows for me. In my personal life, in March, I have been up and down with one brother’s wife giving birth to a beautiful baby girl on March 9, and then, about two weeks later, my other brother tragically and unexpectedly dying. At work, in one week, one of my coworkers lost her husband and another one lost her mother-in-law. Two of my co-workers have been operated on for cancer, and suffered through chemotherapy and radiation since then. And yet, on the other hand, this week, two of my male coworkers were given showers for the upcoming births of their baby sons.

As Elton John says, we experience a "circle of life," as we suffer through illnesses, death, world starvation, war, et al, and yet we also get to experience the many joys of life, such as being with family and friends, and the many wonders of life, such as the births of beautiful children. (As any parent will tell you, there is nothing more beautiful than a newborn baby.)

Today, as I get to experience another day, I have an attitude of gratitude that my body allows me to be here. Suffering the shock of a loss of a family member has made me even more thankful for what I have. I will do my best to "accept the good," as was said in the movie, "Things we Lost in the Fire," with Halle Berry, and try not to dwell on the inevitable sadnesses that we all suffer though in our lives.

My eulogy for David ("Zook") , my brother, 9/19/65-3/27/09

We got the call from Rich at 2:49 AM that David had passed. I fell back to sleep after that and I dreamed that we had gone to Nevada for the funeral. We were looking for David’s house and I was not sure where it was until we found a big purple house: purple lawn, purple trees, purple lawn, and purple mailbox. We parked in the driveway and there was David, doing the laundry in his purple garage, with his purple washing machine and purple dryer. I walked up to David, and said, “David, I drove up here to go to your funeral. You are supposed to be dead. What is going on, you died at the hospital.” Then David, with that typical smirk on his face, turned to me, laughed and said, “Well, guess what. You heard wrong, I’m alive so, get over it!” And after that, David walked away, picked up his purple guitar, got out his purple video camera, and started recording a new song called, “My Brother Phil is an idiot. He thinks I’m dead, but I am alive.” David put out this song on You Tube, got 100,000 hits, and then made the cover of Rolling Stone. As usual David, had told me the truth, whether I wanted to hear it or not.

Randy Pausch, in his book, The Last Lecture, said, “Tell the truth all the time.” That is how David lived; he always told everyone the truth, whether they liked it or not. It started at a young age, when we were living in Bethesda, Maryland, outside Washington, DC. A diplomat, from Canada, was visiting the house, and Dad was holding David in his arms, when David was about four. The diplomat said hello to David, and David’s response was: “You have yellow teeth.” I am sure that the diplomat was overjoyed that David had given him such valuable dental feedback.

David always told the truth, whether in a face to face conversation, in a letter, in a blog, or in a song. Or, put another way, as Jimi Hendrix said in his song, “IF 6 was nine,” “I’m gonna wave my freak flag high.” That flag was always flying high, even though there were times where it would have been easier to see it at half mast, because the truths David told were not always pretty, and could be difficult to hear.

David, in his blogs, used some incredible passages to talk about his spirituality, his life, his dreams, and his regrets. His truths that were told are things that were intimate, personal, perhaps embarrassing, and often unpleasant. But telling the truth takes courage, and David always had courage to do what he thought was right. Like the 12^th juror in the film, “12 Angry Men,” David would hold fast to his beliefs, no matter what anyone else thought.

He recorded many original songs and put them on You Tube. Some were pleasant, some were hilarious, some were unpleasant, and some were controversial, such as ones he did on religion, which inspired some spirited responses from my kids, who have all been to Israel and who attend an orthodox synagogue.

Even though my kids had not spoken to David since last summer, they communicated with him on a regular basis about music, politics and videos, just as they do with their own friends. In fact, my kids have told me that they intend to carry on David’s legacy by performing their music on You Tube and writing their own blogs.

David was a pioneer in many ways:

1. He was the first person in our family to go to UCSD, a science and math-oriented school, where he ended up majoring in economics, and graduated, despite some formidable hurdles he overcame.
2. He was the first person I knew who moved to San Diego. We visited him several times in San Diego, while we were in LA, and I was impressed with how San Diego was such a nice, small town compared to gigantic LA. The impression I got of San Diego from David was one of the reasons we ended up moving to San Diego.
3. He somehow found out about a career in insurance claims adjusting, switched into that, went to get trained in Atlanta, and then stayed with the same company for over twenty years.
4. While in San Diego, he got married, and had a daughter. As much as he loved raising his family in San Diego, he was offered a great opportunity in Nevada, and he had the courage to move out there, and start over once again.
5. In Nevada, he again took on new challenges, by purchasing a single family home, and providing a middle class existence for his family.
6. Once again, David had the courage to take on new challenges, and he moved to another company, which required that he travel all over the country. He recently was on the road over 75% of the time, and working 80 hour weeks.

Point made: David always had the courage to go into uncharted territory, and he did it again and again, with great results.

Music: another key part of David’s life. He mastered the guitar, played many original songs, and used music as an important creative outlet, in addition to his writing. He saw the Grateful Dead a gazillion times, around the country, and seemed to love every minute. In many ways, he was a 60’s child, always willing to hang out with people, and explore the mysteries of life. He recently passed onto to my kids an old Doors chord book, which my kids are enjoying. In fact, just as David enjoyed the Doors and Hendrix, my kids still listen to that type of music all the time.

David sent me countless cassettes when he was in San Diego of music ranging from the Dead and the Doors to Jaco Pastorious jazz music and other esoteric types of music. I played these cassettes over and over until they quit working.

Sports: David was a true sports fan, starting, at a young age, when I took him to many UCLA football games, as my sport buddy, just as my father had taken me to college football games, years before that. In San Diego, courtesy of the San Diego legal profession, he went to many Padre games, including the year they went to the World Series, 1998.

David turned that background in football into a love of San Diego Chargers football, and he started going to the Charger games in the 90’s. He had some great seats close to the field. In fact, his daughter was born on the day of a Charger game in December 1998 during the Ryan Leaf era when they were destroyed by Seattle. David by then had stopped going to the games because, as he correctly pointed out, “the Chargers really sucked.”

David stories: Where do I start? I remember so many of them, which still make me laugh:

1. Once David’s car had been wrecked, while he was going to UCSD, my car was getting old, and I had gotten one of Dad’s cars that was off lease. After getting our car, David called up and said: The car is OK, but I love what is in that envelope. It turns out that a big reefer had been left in an envelope (I have no idea by whom), and David gave it some very positive reviews.
2. One day, when I was visiting from college, we got an envelope sent to the house. It was for a Terry Bradshaw $1 rebate, and I had filled it out very quickly in my crummy handwriting. It came to the house addressed to, not 2129 Via Estudillo, but “2129 Via Futville.” David laughed and laughed about that. He was right, my handwriting sucks.
3. My son Josh still remembers how David and a friend visited us in Torrance, after seeing the movie, “Interview with a Vampire,” apparently in an altered state. David and his friend had said they were both so unimpressed with the movie that they ended up vomiting in their hats.

Dylan Thomas said:

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

David was always tough, up to the end. He even sent out a blog on the way to the hospital, where he said he had refused an ambulance, and instead was driving to the hospital…with an oxygen tank attached to him. David never gave up, and he never gave in, no matter what. David always did what he thought was right, and that is what we all can learn from his life.

Thank you.

In memorium, David G. White, 9/19/65 - 3/27/09

This is my first blog, and, fittingly, it is in honor of my brother, David (Zook), who put out so many amazing blogs throughout this decade. Zook was passionate about life, and loved exploring the mysteries of the universe, in songs, poems, and many insightful blogs, sometimes with humor, sometimes with darkness, sometimes in pain, but always with dignity and a zest for life.

His last You Tube Video was recorded, with him singing and playing guitar, the night before he died, on Friday, March 27. He knew that he was ill, with pneumonia, and that he was scheduled to have surgery to repair his aorta, which was abnormally large, within a few days. In seeing his video, it is evident that although he was quite ill, he was determined to let all of us know that that he had accepted that his life could end and that he was ready for it. He pushed himself to the limit in order that he could leave us with such a beautiful song, I am Going to Fly, even though his body was rapidly failing him.

His courage and dignity in the face of such pain and suffering is an inspiration to us all. In fact, he comforted all of us in knowing that although we will never be able to speak to him again, we will always have the pleasure of viewing his many videos and reading his many blogs.

Thanks to the wonders of technology, Zook, it is as if we can always be with you. Zook, we miss you and love you, rest in peace.