Whaddya Know?

This will be blessedly brief but I felt it necessary to blather regardless. We're approaching the 13th night of flames in Paris/Europe and the ripple I mentioned in a previous entry has most definately reared its ugly head.
The fact that these rioters come from a mostly Muslim community is a factor. The fact that they feel left out/put upon/marginalized/fill in the blank most assuredly plays a part. It is the response to these factors that interests me.
OK. My fear is that radical Muslim factions will or have already infiltrated and enabled these folks with the Molotov cocktails and zippos. Passions enflamed and entire communities in flames over two kids running from legal authorities and accidentally electrocuting themselves in the process is unfortunate. It is the response that has been tragic.
There are those within the community who claim to disavow the violence. One man was even beaten to death for attempting to put out one of the fires that was started. There is even the claim that the two aforementioned youthes would not have approved of this type of response to their demise.
Perhaps so.
However, fanatical elements exist and capitalizing on unfortunate events is one way they ply their trade. For folks already burdened with difficulties in their lives, these complications only make it worse for everyone concerned. It does not matter how much this one or that one is disliked. Bringing everyone down to an equal level of tragedy and misery is not the type of equality to strive for. Misery is misery. It may love company but you would think it would not be so eagerly invited in.
Which brings me to the anti-globalization crownd...

Is Paris Burning?

Even with all of the ill-feeling that exists between the French and Americans, I cannot feel anything but sympathy regarding the horrible events taking place in the Parisian suburbs (et al). As the writer Robert D. Kaplan has pointed out on numerous occasions, mix young, under-educated, unemployed males with nothing to do with opportunity...you get Paris burning. Add just a dash of fanaticism (pick a flavor) and you have a tremendously volitile brew.After ten nights of flames, all we can hope for here is that the collateral damage is held to a minimum and that a resolution is within sight. I fear that this is like Pandora's box - once opened...Take a look at various places throughout the world with similar issues (they are numerous) and you'll see that it is not unlike a rock landing in a still pond - the initial splash is quick but the ripple goes outward and can become a wave/wake. I fear that a bloody crackdown is imminent. I hope I am wrong. However, it may be the only correct response.Okay, I'll admit that I go into allegory and metaphor overdose sometimes. It is either that or Jerseyisms.As a young man, I railed against overaggressive governmental authority. I (virtually) never saw a place where it was applicable. I was also blinded by an illogical ideology regarding what freedom meant, in no small part due to a lack of both theoretical and experiential knowledge. This had been especially true when it came to those from outside my own very American cultural experience. Sometimes a carrot is the correct enticement. However, sometimes the stick is the only solution. This is what I had not been able to see clearly.Now when I mention my "very American cultural experience," I mean growing up in Hoboken, N.J. in the shadow of the Empire State Building (which, incidentally, was the view from my bedroom window). Growing up there was like living in a United Nations experiment - there was a grand swath of humanity there when I was a kid. It was also all inside of a square mile. This, in fact, was the epitomy of a term I have grown to dislike - "diversity." It is a word that used to have meaning to it. Just like "volunteering." Now they are just buzzwords.Being a kid in working-class Hoboken (remember when?) was a joy. It was also tinged with a bit of danger, but we kids loved it. Back then, nobody moved to Hoboken. It was too rough. It was an old port city with tales of hoodlums - both talented amateurs and organized professionals.We played with kids from all different parts of the world because Hoboken had always been an immigrant city (albeit today's immigrants tend to be stockbrokers).To me, this is America. People from wherever. "Where are you from?" they ask. "Hoboken" we answered. It was then understood who we were. Nobody got special treatment because we were all in the same pile of shit together and we knew the rules. Because of that fact, fights we has as kids were temporary. In fact, I met my best friend in the world at 12 years old after he punched me in the ear. (Well, I did take his coffee money.) We all had them and we all got over it. If we didn't - Fuck It! Who gives a shit. It was grand. Winners? Sure. Losers? Sure. All temporary. Victims? Nah. Nobody gives a shit regardless, so cowboy up. And we did.Did some people have it bad? Yup. Did some people have it real good? That is an affirmative. That meant we had to be inventive and find a way up or out. We sure as hell didn't set fire to our own communities. Sure as hell sounds like some of those pyro bastards in Paris deserve a collective beatdown. Vive la difference! Now shut the fuck up and follow the rules.

return of the prodigal son

I do not live lavishly so the title of "prodigal" does not truly fit. However, I do have an abundance of resource which I take for granted. Such an abuse exists right here within cyberspace. To be specific...I can write, and in an instant, see my labors appear as if out of the ether.
This may not seem so extravagent to our newly minted cyber-credo society; alas, I am old enough to recall the not-so-long ago times when information had to be physically mined and publication was expensive and difficult.
You must also have something to say.
Months ago, I took the leap and began this meager blog in order to vent my spleen regarding the messages our society is spoon-fed and swallows like precious nectar. While this had satisfaction in it, it was not the whole meal (pardon me, but I might mix metaphor here and there).
Then I was shamed into a moment of satori. You may not see a respondent. It does not mean you are not read. However, if you blog (new verb?) only every couple of months, not only shall no one shall bother to respond, they not read at all.
Ergo today...
It was only sketches of a dream which took me here. I was back in Ooty (former British hill station in south India) and this time I had my own home. I was teaching in one of the private schools there and my life had some impact on young minds. There was meaning in my day.
I lived in an old British house like something you might find in Shimla in the far north. If you saw the film "Black," you might have an inkling as to how this room looked to me. I had a library/study in which I would write, read and take tea. The walls were polished wood bookcases filled with old tomes and art from around the sub-continent. I had drapes pulled back from my split-pane windows and the sun filled the room with its warmth.
I could feel (in my dream) that this room housed friends and loved ones. In this room, I had created works. I could be prolific there,
As you know, dreams last just a short while in our memory unless you do something with it almost immediately. For myself, I allowed it to become part of a morning daydream and I ran with it. It was lush and breezy. The scent of flowers came in from the garden. I could smell spiced dosa being prepared nearby. Ahhh...
This musing could become an all-day affair if I do not cease now. If you've been to Ooty, you may share in this daydream as you like. For those who have not...
Let us just say that India is a magical place. Sure, it is all of the things you've read about in Kipling, ad infinitum. Yet it is also none of those things. It is a country of dozens of nations where the written script changes along with the local language and, even then, dialect might change after 20 kms.
To condense it: India is the past and future all rolled up into the present.
- PAUSE -
I'll save my waxing poetic for another day. The main point of this is that there shall be more of these days.
I am rich, you see. I do not have hot and cold-running dollars spewing from every orafice. I am rich in that I have access. I have been allowed to labor in my life and reap some benefit from it. I have been blessed in that I can say I've some true friends that will always be there to share a moment or so without reservation. Many of these individuals live far from me, have a different political take or goals in life. This matters for naught. As I said, I am rich and I hope to forever combat the notion of being prodigal. I shall treat this cyber page as if ranting and/or sharing to said friends. Perhaps others shall share in return (be it pithy, pissy or gray).
I remember a notion from my youth. It was claimed (I cannot vouch for it however) to have originated from Grace Slick - "It all don't mean shit to a tree."
Voila!