Cultural Parallels

Today at work one of my Jamaican co-workers did something I've seen many Jamaicans do: point at something with her lips.

As I'd posted it on Facebook a few of my friends made me remember that this is not Jamaica-only. I've seen other Caribbeans do it too (although, mostly Dominicans). I do recall seeing Filipinos do it too.

Nothing in this world is entirely unique; it may just be we've not discovered the other one of it. I used to think my name was pretty unique, but then it's not an uncommon name in India. It's still fairly uncommon, but not as rare as one might think.

Jupiter Jones in Jupiter Ascending was the exact genetic replica of the Abraxas matriarch. It was something that would happen eventually, but they'd no idea when it would be until they'd found her. They say individual snowflakes are unique and one-of-a-kind, but the finite atoms on this Earth will produce duplicates eventually.

I'd say, melodramatically, that nothing is special. I'll say that in my head, and say outright that everything can happen again.

Trump ends White House tradition of celebrating end of Ramadan

Trump ends White House tradition of celebrating end of Ramadan

From Eid al-Fitr, a Flipboard topic

US President Donald Trump broke a two-decade-long tradition this weekend by not hosting a White House dinner to celebrate Eid, marking…

Read it on Flipboard

Read it on france24.com

Why I Chose… Cats

I like cats. Cats are a little indifferent, not really needy, really independent.

Most people can't say the same about most dogs. In my history, if I was walking home from school, a dog would howl and pound at a fence. Twice when I was in Jamaica, a dog ran to chase me and I broke lunchboxes when I fell. My grandmother didn't take my breaking then so well, even if dogs were chasing me.

I still have the scars from where I scratched my knees, too.

You don't hear about cats chasing people down. You don't really hear about cats being stupid.

And it doesn't look absolutely disgusting when you see a cat next to someone's face. The cat isn't licking all up and down someone's face.

So, I suppose it's more about why I don't choose dogs to why I do choose cats. But cats rule.

Voting

So, I went and voted in today's special election for this district. It was because I felt I'd needed to (because I believe in voting).

Still, my fellow humans didn't make it easy.

Over the past week, this is my missed calls list: 

 

These were probably all people trying to "encourage" me to vote, and to remind me how "landmark" this election is.

I don't need anyone to tell me that. I realize the election is important, but not because of who's running or who's against whom. It's an exercise of a right, and one that puts someone in place who can vocalize my views (somewhat/somehow).

Having all these people call seemingly incessantly is just… rude. Having a mailbox, one day, with eight different flyers reminding me to vote is rude. And wasteful environmentally. Everything went in the recycling bin, yes, but goodness…

I don't even think I got this amount of grief in Florida when Obama was running.

I don't think other countries get nearly this invasive with elections, but I don't know. All I've seen of it is other countries sometimes have supremely high voter turnout.

But I voted. Now leave me alone.

Otto W.

So, I'd revealed a thought I had about Otto Warmbier's situation today: that North Korea didn't want anyone to think it was possible — or that anyone would do it in their country — but that Otto Warmbier may have tried to take his own life unsuccessfully.

Naturally, since this is one of those "unthinkable" things, and because it does sound somewhat callous to think it, it's not a thought that would go over well.

I'm a person who tends to have logical leaps, thinking things that seem so probable and right, but not being able to substantiate it with hard evidence. Some may call them hunches, but it's more than that. I think of things with having experienced, read, thought, or otherwise went over them before, but I just can't cite my sources (I usually can't remember them). I did have such a leap a while ago when someone in the news had died and I'd figured it s suicide.

It turned out to be such, and they left it alone after that (I suppose to not "glorify" the act).

It shouldn't be so wild to think someone might try suicide if under conditions where oppression, lack of freedom, and hardship are almost the whole of one's day. A friend of mine brought up that it would probably be painful for the parents to hear someone think their son might have tried to kill himself. I did mention there's nothing to refute completely that option, but I did understand that line of thinking.

It wouldn't excuse North Korea if they didn't contribute directly to his death (as in, he would have been the initiator, if it was attempted suicide), but they'd be at least manslaughterers.

It would be another turn on the Massachusetts case that found the girl guilty for egging on her ex-boyfriend to kill himself: the judge convicted her of involuntary manslaughter.

The Devil Proof

"The Devil's in the details."

"The proof's in the pudding."

I've heard these things a lot recently and they've gotten me thinking about their meanings. Why are these "negative" things the things we seek?

I should say, I don't know if they are negative in fact, but they seem so.

Details are a good thing, and I suppose the Devil being in them might indicate something negative. It's a hardship, or at least something that might bring along unpleasantness.

The proof might be another negative thing, something one might not want in the final product of the pudding.

I don't know, but I should look these up to see if my thoughts are worth anything.

The Library in My Life

I had brought up the fact I would buy The Handmaid's Tale when it becomes less expensive (hype tends to inflate prices; supply and demand and all that), and a friend brought up I could always go to the library to get it.

And it dawned on me I haven't thought about the library — or me going to a library, more appropriately — in years.

I'm a fan of books, reading, and literacy. I was actually talking with one of my co-workers about reading and how as a child the only fictional books I'd liked to read were science fiction. Otherwise, I liked non-fiction, and it would be grating to have to read fiction I haven't picked myself (so school-assigned fictional reading until about high school was pretty little-bit-of-less-than-torment-inducing for me).

When I moved to Georgia and had a bit of free time, I'd check out books from the library, but since I'd moved on my own, it has been more of buying books and having them at my disposal to read whenever than going to the library and reading on, effectively, a timetable. And then I give the book(s) back, some thing my friend had also brought up as a plus of a library.

He is right about that fact. If one wishes to live minimally, or minimalistically, a library would be a great option. It has been a little wasteful of me, because I have so many books, and how many of them can I actually read (or even, how many have I read entirely?) at once? How many are there for relative emotional attachment (or at least, as a physical memory piece: "Oh, I remember when I'd gotten that Jacques Derrida book! It was for Dr Maingot's Sociology class, but he changed his mind about actually using that after all, and I just couldn't part with it!")?

And I still haven't read it.

Yet, there's something about a library, like many places lately that are not my bedroom, that's a turnoff. I'm a pretty giant introvert with some social anxiety, so if I can do things with only limited interaction with other human beings (at least face-to-face most often), I tend to take that option. I'm not a social dud (most of the time; especially at work, generally, I'm pretty good), but I tend not to go out of my way to talk to someone, and I often forget people like to actually hear a verbal "Hello" in greeting rather than a nod or a (and yes, I do do this) slight bow in cordially acknowledging their presence.

So going somewhere with things I like, but with people who mean well and want to help you find what you want (even though usually when I've gone to a library, I'm reallyreallyreally not there usually with anything particular in mind to pick out), I still find it a little annoying when they ask me if they can help me find something (even though, ironically, if I'm there and unsure where something is, I'm looking for someone to help me and they're either busy or not within reach).

And I suppose I appreciate the gesture in wanting to help, even though 99% of the time I don't need any, and though it does annoy me a little. I suppose I want to be able to be in my own head and not have anyone interrupt that jaunt; I'm often very fancifully looking through the stacks and wandering when I have been in a library.

Then there are just other humans in general being there and possibly interrupting my meander too. So, I can enjoy books while not having other humans "in my way" if I have the books at home, and so why I haven't been to a library in probably four years. There is a library just around the corner from me, and I'd just have to register, but I haven't actually given into that corner of my head that wants to go there.

And it's a Pokémon GO gym.

June

What is it about the month of June?

What comes readily to mind with June is when I feel really bluesy… like really. I'd thought about it and it has been recurring, but I haven't been able to trace the cause.

But this June, with the terrorist attacks, and anniversary of the Pulse nightclub massacre, and then the UPS murder-suicide-ish, the London building fire, the Virginia baseball game shooting, and any more things that have made major news in rapid succession… It's almost wow-ing if it weren't that the world has a lot more examples of thing that happen every second of every day.

We can't keep track of them all, but if it were possible I'd love to know if June has some kind of edge in the tragedies department.

Take Care of Yourself

There's general health to mind, as well as one's teeth, one's eyes, one's mental health… Then as things break down, one minds one's skin, feet, reproductive parts… The human body is wonderful in some senses (when taking Anatomy and Physiology back in high school, it amazed me how everything tries to balance itself).

As we break down, though, we rely on medications to mitigate that breakdown. If we have mental "illness", or at least difference that might make interactions with other humans more difficult for ourselves and/or others, we have medications for that. And these medications may or may not have patents that may or may not make them sometimes prohibitively expensive (whether or not one has insurance, another sometimes necessary evil).

I've been thinking a lot about the human body these last few weeks as I notice things that I didn't before, or things that happen more frequently than they once had done…

Whatever, body. Whatever.

Sales and Marketing

I have friends whose career it is to get people to buy things, entice people into liking something, or make something look its best. I respect and love these people. I don't their trades, though.

I've never been one to tell people about something they didn't ask for unless it comes up as directly relate-able to the conversation, and I'm certainly not going to weave a conversation just so we can talk about something (as a recent employer had goaded us again and again to do). I really dislike that.

Yes, life is easier without having to barter. This obsession that especially this country has with amassing material wealth is insane, though. It's not this country though. You have Malawi, Mozambique, and Zimbabwe that have these witch doctors who entice people to believe other human beings' body parts will get them the wealth they seek.

They've conned people into believing bald men's heads have a trove of gold within them. And people are killing for that "gold".

People think that because I want to hear people's stories that I want to use that information to sell them something because I "know them". No! I want to know people's stories because they're unique and because it's the story itself that's valuable.

I can't buy a meal or pay rent with those stories, though there probably are illicit or illegal markets for certain stories, but they're valuable to me.

I just wish people did things because it's nice rather than because you might make money off it.

Visiting a Farmer's Market

I visited the farmer's market closest to home today after church and I found it was cool as well as a bit distressing.

It was a place that brought all kinds of products from all kinds of cultures — Chinese, a little Japanese, a smidge of Korean, a lot of Vietnamese, some Thai, some South Asian, Latin American and Caribbean in general, and even some West African — under one roof. It was cool to see them, to try and decipher them and wondering which ones people really went for more regularly than others. I wondered who in there was a restaurant owner/operator/manager going there to buy ingredients for his/her latest culinary project (or just what they're doing regularly) and who was there as a person who just wanted stuff to cook the only things they know how to cook.

I saw mostly the latter, and there were a couple guesses at the former. I'd even saw some people like me who were getting produce probably because it's a little less expensive than even the bigger grocery stores…

I thought about the fact this country of the United States of America has given me the opportunity to see stuff from so many different places and be able to possibly sample of them.

But then I found myself trying not to cry because I'm just "a boring guy with no fixed cultural identity" that I can rapidly claim as my own. I have the British-Jamerican thing I give myself, and I've spoken about how people from the British side and the Jamaican side would probably have words with me about how I'm neither of those things properly. I wanted, while I was there, so badly to be the elderly probably-Chinese-or-Vietnamese (because she, unlike some others, wasn't immediately identifiable to me as one or the other) woman I'd kept patiently waiting for to notice me to be able to pass her in the narrow aisles who had stuff in her cart she was "obviously" going to use to cook her native meals she knows (me conscious simultaneously of this being an almost very American and kind of patronizing thing to think) instead of the wannabe me.

This makes me think of today's sermon about seasons, though. It really spoke to me, because I keep envying others even though they're in one season and I'm in another. I'll get to where I need to be eventually, but it's all so damn frustrating a lot of the time.

The News Cycle

In another thought about news, I sometimes regret being someone who likes to listen to news because it can sometimes trigger one of my giant pet peeves: certain repetition in speech.

Between yesterday and today, I've probably heard some generally-the-same iteration of President Trump's Paris Climate Accord decision. It was annoying. Whether it was the BBC, the CBC, NPR, PRI, American Public Media, or KSL in Salt Lake City, Utah, I got it.

I had to brace to not exhale furiously.

I need to listen to some stories.