Care, and Vigilance

In this summer of our discontent, with shootings and racism, homelessness, shootings and racial insanity, shootings, bad music, the death of Bill Cosby and racial shootings in the United States ... and (im)migrants stealing across borders in Europe, invading, creating encampments of despair, yet boundless hope "over there"-- and Brazil going south -- 

which way do I turn?

When I care but can't help, or can't care to help (can't be bothered) - because after all, what's the point (When I fall in the forest, does anyone hear me?)?  Feeling helpless, without hope myself, I succumb:  to inaction, and try to profess an "indifference" ...

While seismic demographic shifts take place, overtaking the landscapes and bludgeoning hegemony; the Banhofs and Autobahns, shorelines and coastlines awash with a tidal surge of humanity ... Families escaping, in flight -- Flüchtlinge ...

Refugees fleeing -- fugindo -- seek refuge.  The words hang together, saying similar things ... a melting pot of assimilations, sharing a genesis ... Like "those people" pronouncing or spelling them differently.  Borne of the same place, the same etymology, if you will ... We are all of us human.

Having said this, there must be order maintained.  There are laws to abide by, as well as etiquette inherent in the guest / host dynamic.  Everybody has got to eat, and there must be enough jobs to allow all to do so.

While it's "polite" and "correct" to "welcome" an influx of displaced humanity, and humans, sharing genesis, for the most part want to ... On a practical level, the borders should not, cannot, be simply flung open.

Germany's push to disperse the new arrivals is potentially harrowing -- Could families be torn apart, to meet quotas? -- and schönen München's herzerwärmende open arms display does not seem particularly thought-through.  Inspiring, emotional, indeed heartwarming ... Certainly what we, as fellow human beings, aspire to and would want for ourselves in a "do unto others", karmic way.

But despite the country's center stage role, and shining examples of welcome and tolerance -- not to mention the peerless steerage of Angela Merkel, coming from the East herself and no doubt recognizing 1980's scenes of trains and walls and Luftballons ...

 

It's important to keep a practical head on our shoulders.  When the last of the well-intentioned chickens and blueberry pies and high-heeled shoes have been gifted in Willkommen, and a meant-to-be-transitory Zwischenstation for many, devolves into permanent crises in housing, disease, crime or civil unrest ... because in the end, fear of the "other" and hatred, fueled in part by prideful ignorance and an innate desire within any species, human or otherwise, to exist amongst creatures who look and communicate similarly, but not to assimilate ...

will not go away.

Inasmuch, the (im)migrants, refugees, all "those people" seeking asylum and better lives in the West via Germany and other places, aren't the problem.  The problem inherently lies in wait, in a societal home opening its doors to guest strangers ...

Then there lurk larger, much darker, non-human issues, unable ever to be solved practically ... With September 11th approaching, and the world well-aware how things changed since '01, it's not inappropriate to point out that any mass influx of humanity to "the West", unfettered by visa regulations, could -- COULD, it's conceivable -- include a bad apple.

Or two.  Or 1300 ...

The USA's near total laissez-faire on USE's latest migrant drama (the worst since 1992) -- uncharacteristically not butting in, but remaining fairly silent to see how Europe fares -- is surprising, in this regard.  Is a full-bellied Trojan Horse marching westward ... ?

Is "the East", figuratively speaking, 'sending rapists'?

Will Chancellor Merkel, and certainly that idiot from Hungary, be left dumm dastehen, with blood on their hands?

I'd like to think not.  Wouldn't want to believe it ... but sadly, it mustn't be discounted, as we do keep the borders, as well as our arms, hearts and, necessarily, eyes flung open.

Schrei nach Liebe (die Ärzte) - with English lyrics

[ #AktionArschloch! ]

Sad Father Land

I give up.

I've been fairly vocal about race in America:  trying desperately to keep perspective while all about me were losing theirs.

I've acknowledged my shortcomings, on par with yours ... yet endeavored to point out that "racism" is not, nor should it be, the automatic knee-jerk, go-to response to every frustration that comes down the pike.

It isn't always cut and dried ... It's certainly not always black and white;

I've empathized with Donald Sterling ... not because he was "right", but because he's old.  I was inclined, and still am, to step back and recognize an old man's f(l)ailings ... as I might recognize the increasingly churlish, not wholly appropriate remarks of my own 'old man' - born not of hatred, but of longing:  for another era, another body, another lifetime to be able to choose more wisely ...

I 'got' Donald Sterling.  And I get you, Dad.  Happy Father's Day.

Though at times, the things you say are not right, I can't police your thoughts ... and your actions have always spoken louder than any petulant, unfunny words you might utter.

You and Mom taught me well ... but I will also get old ... and toward that end, I get you.

Just like I 'got' Donald Sterling ...

I'm on record on a social network arguing, in terms of race relations, that "in the United States, there has been VAST progress. Yes, there are still pockets of ignorance (and unwarranted 'fear') ... but they are shallower pockets, at this juncture in history, than in many other countries" and,

"To refute this, or keep trying to suggest otherwise, is as irresponsible as it is inaccurate" (December 2014).

Now, six months later, in the wake, and midst still, of Treyvon Martin, Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Walter Scott, Freddie Gray and Baltimore ... New York City cop killings, Texas chainsaw pool parties ...

This Stooge of the South, showering pure racial hatred ... my revised verdict is in:

The U.S. seems no further along than the early/mid-20th century, if not the 19th, in its white and black dynamic:  its overall preference for segregation, its deep-rooted fear and mistrust of 'the other'; the tangible efforts that have been made, too often couched in a language of equality ... "affirmative action" and fulfilling of quotas, if not demands ... instead of, and at the expense of, inclusion or actual integration.

Americans don't seem to want to be integrated.  U.S. institutions, societal fabrics, don't -- in fact, won't, and refuse to -- support it.

Awareness -- thoughts, recognition -- are one thing.  Action, and actual change, are another.  As with Old Man Sterling (or Stormin' Norm Glovsky), these must go hand in hand before premature judgments get handed down.  I don't believe Donald Sterling is "racist".

I no longer believe the United States has made substantive progress in terms of race.

Are You Hearing Me?

For many years, I have had the good fortune to be a live sound engineer - mixing bands that can play actual musical instruments ... so that I, as any actual live "sound engineer" should be able to do, can discern between the varied sounds and tones of each instrument (the human "vox" included) ... as opposed to, say, sitting behind a computer (a digital sound console) and lazily babysitting "presets" (watching the faders zoom up and down together).

writes Mr. Nice Legz

As any self-respecting musician (or opinionated windbag in the business) will tell you, there is nothing worse than a lazy sound guy.

That said, there are clearly advantages to going digital in a live sound environment.  Because digital processing is self-contained -- that is, all of the effects, equalization, compression, etc., can be accessed from within the sound console itself -- there is no longer any need for racks, and stacks of "outboard" gear cluttering the tech. table or mixing area ... so when babysitting digital presets myself, I can at least put my feet up.

Once I was doing this hotel gig, and we started discussing the lunch that was going to be served that day.  As we were finishing breakfast, waiting for the morning's first presentation ... the in-house sound guy I was working with blurted, "Salmon!  Never been much of a salmon guy.  Just give me a nice piece of friggin' swordfish!"

And then he fell mountainously asleep at the sound board.

See, that's what I'm talking about!

That's the main difference between analog and digital audio mixing.  It's apples and oranges ... salmon and swordfish!

Calloo! Callay!

I did it!  I did it, Mother!  I really did it!

Whoooooooooooo ...

"Leave It", ©Jeff Glovsky

Postcard(s) at Night

"To mourn a mischief that is past and gone

is the next way to draw new mischief on" - Mr. Shakespeare

*

Recently, for the first time in nearly five years ... Why, since literally being run out of town back in '10 ... I spent an enjoyable extended stay in Miami.

Miami ... Where a young(ish) man's dreams turned to ash, along with the molt of his reputation.

Miami!  Death of name and pride ... The violent starvation of anything lovely, the horror of shame-given life, told to hide ...

Made to feel horrendous.  A loser inside.

Watch the wife feed the loser ... half-believing the lies ...

Having nowhere to turn, or herself run and hide, she can only reluctantly flail and pile on; not wanting to feel her love for The Loser, she can only hold tight to her furies, resentments and 20-year grudges, and dredging these up to protect herself when she feels the way she's supposed to feel:  in love and supportive, not wanting to harm ...

Not wanting to wound him and kill anymore than he's already crippled and dying inside ... her defense is to do exactly that:  wound and kill, any love she feels might be alive still.

Protecting herself, because Loser's disabled ...

“Gone Skyline (Night)”, ©Jeff Glovsky

The Meaning of Jimmy

I wonder what happened to Jimmy, sometimes.

My first professional gig in New York, my first actual job there, was as a light and sound engineer at a cabaret theater called The Ballroom.

Jimmy, ostensibly, was the floor manager of the bar and restaurant part ... no doubt having taken the job proudly; won the position from numerous other qualified applicants and fulfilled his duties with zest and purpose ... once.

By the time I knew Jimmy, he'd become installed:  a figurehead, fixture at the end of the bar, where he'd plant each day and into the night, quaffing cup after cup of port and vino ... Occasionally yelling out, "86!" - whether the kitchen was actually out of a menu item or not.

It didn't matter to Jimmy, who scarcely realized where he was by the middle of each nightly shift ... let alone who he had bartending or waiting tables for him (who he was "managing", in other words) ... who might have been playing in the cabaret ... or whether blurting out "86!" in a crowded restaurant, for no good reason, was a good idea.

In work, as in life, there are comforts, nostalgia, stagnation, complacency, habits (for we are creatures of all!) ... which creep in and combine with routine, daily boredoms, lethargy, apathy, to freeze one in place ... annihilating zest and purpose, rendering one meaningless.

I wonder what happened to Jimmy, sometimes ... and sense, in the end, we are all of us, Jimmy.

Introducing Jeff Glovsky

... on WordPress:

Compendium

random SHORTS

3 Monsters

Developing Characters

Old Is New(ish)

©michaeljayphoto

New (Dis)Contents

jglov.wordpress.com

Jeff Glovsky on WordPress

When Blogs Collide ...

Two Nations, Under God?

It's been a long year ...

Last May, in the wake of the Donald Sterling nonsense, I commented -- rather vehemently -- about the old fella's 'mistreatment' at the hands of certain "hating and seething" "thought police" ... "angry, directionless ministers beseeching ... already converted choirs" that Sterling was worse than just a crusty curmudgeon, left up to his neck in societal sea change.

I empathized with Donald Sterling  - not unlike my own 'old man', a creature from another era; many decades and learning curves behind the new prevailing winds of (surface) tolerance and color-blindness.

„Die Augen voller Heimtücke und der Mund in böser Freude aufgeworfen"... WHAT?!

In Germany, which has its own shameful past to get past, there was this, a cartoon caricature à la Charlie Hebdo, but in one of Deutschland's more respected publications ... As a loose analogy, let's imagine if this howler from The Onion made it onto the New York Times' print pages:

So understandably, Germany, then die Außenwelt, grew a little on edge when Der Spiegel called out Süddeutsche Zeitung's disturbing depiction of Facebook's Mark Zuckerberg, by chiding, „Jüdische Hakennasen-Krake greift sich die Datenwelt?" ... which roughly translates to, 'Jewish hook-nosed octopus grabs the data world?'

Is that what you're saying with your cartoon, Süddeutsche???

... prompting a not-quite-heartfelt tweet of apology from SZ, and a bemused sanitation of the original offending / offensive representation:

Facebook swallows ...

*

Back in the U.S., beneath the low-hanging clouds of Treyvon Martin (and increasingly noxious fumes of his killer), there was the late summer incident in Ferguson, Missouri, leading to civil unrest throughout the fall ... but this was an incident which, though tragic, unnecessary and poorly handled, was not, initially, black and white ... and, I argued, should not have been less cut and dried than a simple case of bad against good, right from wrong, law and order.

Simpl(isticall)y speaking, what happened in Ferguson either exposed still lingering racial divides in the U.S., or tried its damnedest to undo many decades of racial and societal progress made.  I desperately wanted to believe the latter ... that we, as a nation, had come so far;

that despite Ferguson, those race-baiting and flailing were just trying to fan flames which, for the most part in the second decade of the third millennium, were refusing to do anything other than smolder ...

That the United States had, in fact, made progress; had come a long way in terms of race and tolerance ... and that apart from the amplified and emotionalized series of events sprung last summer, it could not be argued that progress had not been made ...

I still believe this.

Even in the most recent obscenity, the cold-blooded, shot in the back killing of black Walter Scott by white (southern) ex-cop Michael Slager, there is the overriding question of law and order ... If I, myself white, got out of a car at a traffic stop and ran away, defying a police officer's first request to remain in the car; then fighting to relieve that cop of a weapon, before running away again ... Would I be shot too?

Would, or could, you?

The question of why Walter L. Scott was running ... just what he was thinking ... remains not only unanswered (though it's been suggested he fled because he owed child support), but largely unasked; certainly not dissected nor addressed in the media or public discourse at large.

Regardless, "black lives" (all lives) certainly matter.  This goes, or should go, without needing to say.

Despite this ^ ^ ^

I still want to believe ...

Head ... Case

or, München (ist für die Birds!)

Skulking up Schwanthalerstraße recently, past the Deutsches (on the left hand side) ... the Nokem store and that hookah place, I double take as I notice a large bird -- tweeting and making strangled noises auf Deutsch -- flying down the otherwise empty street toward me, my own beak directly in its sights.

I'm not sure whether to freeze or keep walking ... duck or run ... fight or fly away myself.   I decide, after giving it some thought, just to stand there and shit my pants.

This fiendish Archaeopteryx, apparently sensing my response, pulls up at the last moment ... leaving me to marvel at the sanctity of life and nature ... with an excretion of some sort dripping down my forehead, but otherwise, none the worse for wear from our run-in!

Nonetheless, since then, I'm wearing a diaper.  On my head ... just in case.

Better sorry, and safe ...

Sensitive Content(s)

READ

Slice / Life (annoyances, episodes)

There'll be a quiz ...

Disturbance

The 25th

by Jeff Glovsky
*

Draft-y (Spring Cleaning)

The first line suggests some riff on, or nod to, ERB ... The photo might too, actually.  But really, I have no idea where I was going with this (begun and abandoned 3/21)...

--

Nice!  EPIC!

As of 2 day, right now, we have a

 --

The End?? 

more Unfinished Business
by Jeff Glovsky
 

Going Down

It could've been me again ... sort of.

On September 11, 2001, I happened not to be working audio-visual with the Windows on the World team at 1 World Trade Center ... in the North Tower, up on the 106th floor there, where I'd arrive for freelance gigs fairly regularly, and in fact, just completed one two days prior.

Now yesterday, as I'm holed up in a Starbucks, waiting for an afternoon appointment to show, the ground shakes ... a terrible BOOM rents the (terrible) day ... and the entire store pours onto the New York sidewalk, cell phones raised, Instagram at the ready ...

I'm literally the only one left inside.  Not deigning to join all the show business kids falling over themselves not to feel, but to transmit, a unique experience -- letting it wash over and past them, instead of sinking in and through -- I help myself to a blueberry muffin, snap a few photos of billowing smoke and walk north, uptown, to get away from it all.

Then Germanwings ... German things, in general (prosaically speaking) do not tend to fail.  There is pride in the ranks of the Mittelstandes ... the industrial middle class ... engine and backbone of Europe's standout economy.

Pride.  Perfection.  Precision ... macht frei.  All the trains are on time, I can ride with my phone ... I never once worry about scalding myself, under an electronic showerhead, with temperature exactitudes to a quarter-degree Celsius (!), whenever I'm scrubbing myself in München.

I've never once boarded a plane in Germany -- or more precisely, a German airline -- and needed to worry about being delayed, bumped, cancelled (Hundewetter notwithstanding) or otherwise inconvenienced ... or frankly, pissed off by the attitudes of lazy, bored, undertrained, overwhelmed workers.  There are no such, pathetically flailing in Germany.  Instead, for the most part -- though, in all honesty, with increasing exception -- there is PRIDE still:  in work performed well; services capably rendered.

Some of this dichotomy, I imagine, is generational - There tends to be an older, more loyal, established and responsible workforce in Germany, so things run efficiently:  with experience, common sense and allowances for dignity ... as compared to the soullessly fearful, pig-headed and/or nonsensical service sectors of other places, the U.S. in particular.

Some seemingly glaring differences in attitude, though, I acknowledge, just might be imagined.  For example, I speak almost kein Deutsch ... I can't really know for certain who's slacking, who's beefing, who's grousing about work or their shitty day ... and I can't respond anyway, if I do get pissed off.  In Germany, I'm forced more to swallow nonsense, perhaps ...

But generally (prosaically) speaking, German things don't tend to fall from the sky.  When I heard the news yesterday that Germanwings co-pilot, Andreas Lubitz, intentionally flew Flight 9525 into a mountain, it first came as a relief to me:  It wasn't terrorism.  This one was not a small battle in World War III ... At least that.

It didn't come as a surprise, though.  In the scope of things, given Germany's overall track record for efficiency and manufacturing efficacy, something was wrong (German things don't just fall out of the sky) ... The crash of Germanwings Flt. 9525 could only have been intentional, I thought.

Lo and behold ...

“Wings & Prayers”, ©Jeff Glovsky

Rain Dance (reboot)

When it's not icy cold in New York, it's raining.  There are so rarely days of pleasant weather, or of pure sunshine ...

“Can’t Stop the Weather”, ©Jeff Glovsky

In remembrance of some messy Marches, and other months of the year when it's not just winter in the U.S. northeast -- and in toast to St. Patrick's Day, when Erin goes braless and drunks will be pissing like New York skies -- I give you a little rain rant, from my ongoing (decades long) work in progress ...

It's said to rain a lot, Seattle.  London is renowned, of course, its foggy, mossy climate ...

How come no one ever sees ugly New York for what it is, though?

It's a grey and pissing open wound!  Forever dripping, drizzling like a swollen, leaky faucet.  Let's give credit where it's due, now!  Let's acknowledge that we rot here in our festering putrescence, in the scalding fetid moisture of our cemetery skies.

Let's hoist mighty, high, our rain guards as we slam through, past each other ... as we're snarling in our moldy streets.  While cursing and drowning and suckling, and snarling ... While always hurry scurrying to our empty lives and nowhere beats ...

GUESS WHAT!?  You're gonna die, you Suit!  You pick out my eye with your sodden umbrella [... even make that aimless be-there poked with passion on your phone toy!]*

It matters nicht, 'cause we're all dead.

from Central Park

by Jeff Glovsky

* * *

 *original text (1993):   "... even make that aimless be-there scrawled with Cross pens in your ledger!"

Disturbance

As I write, there is a noisy, messy woman tearing agitatedly through her homeless bag.

I want to take her photograph ... I want to steal her bag and take time sifting through the contents:  How did she become this way?  Where did these belongings come from?  Why are they of enough sentiment to her (tethered to a better time?) ... so she wrestles and tears through them, agitatedly?

Hopeful still, she wakes each day ... maybe prays, finds some comfort, a warm cup of dignity ...

I steal her soul ... but it's not exploitation.

"Do Something", ©Jeff Glovsky

Grey(t) Love, Escape

“Grey(t) Skyline”

* * *

Whenever I'm back in New York for extended periods, which is becoming less frequent as I ripen like Käse, I'm reminded simultaneously of what still iron-grips me, keeps bringing me back here ... yet why I began to escape in the first place.

I've long said, in New York (in Manhattan, that is), there is no middle ground:  You're either perfectly young for it, or perfectly old.  You enjoy the clubs, lounges, (now corporatized) live music / night life scenes ... the all-nighters, 4am diner hangs ... or you're comfortably numbed.  You've learned where to go, what to see, who to do for your comforts, and you can afford these.

In the midlife, there is only flight ... from noise and Groundhog Day-like hassles, constant inconveniences, too many people (incessant noise!) and tourist price-gouging.  Add to this, a milennial sheen ... This privatized, Disneyfied, playground vibe ... This "service"-oriented age of "transparency", where everything's glass and in fact, nothing's private and even the taxi drivers pretend now to "like" you (transparent, indeed!) ...

Entering a pizza place last week, I'm greeted by a greasy apron caught up in this fantasy, all beaming as he asks me, "How are you, good gentleman?"

"Uh, yeah ... Gimme a slice," I grunt.  "Not hot.  Just like it is."

"It's cold!" shouts he with glee, imploring.

"Don't care.  That one.  With the cheese.  Not.  Burnt.  No, not that one!  Looks like ASS ... "

This happened last week.  Looking back, I think for a minute, I have no idea why I'm acting that way ... but then it occurs to me, Wait.  Yes I do.

I'm middle-aged now.  Gearing up for a thirtieth high school reunion (!) ... and New York -- in reality, a shoulda been transitional situation, where it's never been easy to live, just survive -- now feels to me like a burial ground.  My mood and spirit, hopes and humor, all but submerged, subsumed when I'm here ...

“Subsuming”, ©Jeff Glovsky

I have flown ... but can't yet keep too long away.

Until I can, long for the New York I was young in ... the mind your own business, out of my face place ... Grown up, Garbo-esque, I request at least that.  For now ... while I still can't fly too long away.

* * *

The 25th

Hey Kids!  According to WordPress, I've just made my 25th post HERE.  But

"Who's Counting?", ©Jeff Glovsky

* *

Always be a poet, even in prose.

- Charles Baudelaire

Fearless Failure

Whenever a gig folds, I expand ...

I wrote that twenty-some years ago, in a fit of exhaltation, having been sent home from a nice-paying job because -- as it was put to me -- my bright, loud '90s tie was too wide.  I think there may have been stars all over it.  I remember a guy I worked with bursting out into "Star Man" -- this tremulous, pitch-perfect Bowie noise -- whenever he saw me throughout that day.  We laughed about it ... Me calling him "Ziggy" ... Me laughing not with, but at myself ... and then my gig folded.

I got sent home.

Looking back, it's doubtful my neckwear was the (only) problem.  Perhaps I was bored.  A bit understimulated ... I was working in a hotel environment, where customer service and propriety were the norms.  Probably singing "Ballroom has broken", loudly -- this excellent, tremulous Bowie noise! -- to the tune of "Morning Has Broken", or barking gibberish in German, didn't help back then with the overall perception of me as a qualified, team-oriented AV professional (nor one with a full set of crayons in the box, for that matter!).

... I got sent home.

That paled, though, in comparison to being called up by an employer on New Year's Eve once, after work, and being bluntly informed that that day had been my last ... The subsequent year getting off to a flying stop, as I lay on the floor of New York's Port Authority bus station, waiting for daylight on January 1st, and my wife to return from upstate with our house keys.

There are several -- nay, hundreds -- of other examples, of me and misfortune caressing each other ... Each time, with each failure, and each lesson learned, there's potential, resolve not to get it wrong next time!

There are realizations, and steely damn insights, and fury ... Self-loathings with each new awareness...

But work-wise, I've learned it comes down to this:  If the job doesn't fit you, you really should quit.

If the job don't fit, you gotta quit.

If you're in a rut and it doesn't feel right ... bored to wit's end, and you're understimulated ... Singing songs to pass the time, or acting foolish through discomfort -- You don't feel you belong, so you're creating discomfiture -- it's time to assess.  Call timeout, and if necessary, take yourself out of the game.

Don't wait to be benched.  Or, for your gig to be folded ...

Take a deep breath.  Expand.

Be exhalted ...

Über ...

In the gross, crass world we've all become ... of "reality" monsters, Frankenstein face-making, Facebook perversions of expectations -- to be private; to be left alone, not to be "poked"; to exist without "proof" - by (over)sharing or "checking in" -- 

our unprivate, unreal world of "belonging":  of "registering", "joining", being forced to "sign in" ... Of psychotics and legal drug pushing, abuse ... Of oversex; joky promotions of gluttony ... Clashing beliefs about health, diet, wellness ...

It's a miracle any of us functions normally.

What is even "normal" anymore?  There are three (3) sexes now:  two genders and a "neutral" ... and we're asked to select one when giving birth.  We've become science fiction.  Test tube animals.  Experiments.  Targets, in both the traditional and ad-"serving" sense.

We fight back hysterically ... pinching ourselves ... Histrionically flailing for affirmation; some foothold to keep us from being subsumed ...

Yet don't get me wrong.  I haven't entered Nietszche mode ... Man, Woman, Brucekind has my respect.  My utmost support and best, fervent hopes.  And if you're in on the joke our new world has become, I want to tear that shit up!! why, I respect you that much more ...

Nietziche, y'all!

Intent, Purpose

In the flurry of world Angst which has defined the past weeks, it's occurred to me, I've gone about as far as I can go here.

With this blog, and these posts, I've said just about all I have to say, and have more or less achieved my goals setting out:  to right the wrongs done to my personal name; my business, but also personal reputation ... I've at least had my say, my quarrelsome days, in the kangaroo court of public opinion.

There's no need left to slag off the lawyer's wife, whose husband, in a rambling, epithet-filled, late night SCREAMFEST, using his law firm's email account, attacked me ... offended, insulted, abused, accused, swore ... because he (WRONGLY) decided he was "scammed" by me;

there is no longer any need to chide the clueless, sometimes mental, entitled-feeling, when they're demanding rental "discounts" or expecting "deals" ... or making threats to me, because they destroy or make filthy a piece of my property, yet somehow don't think they ought to pay for anything!

No more need to waste time ... There are nasty assholes on this planet.  At times, I am one of them.  No one cares, and in the Big Picture, why bother arguing?

There are much more important things to address, fight and stress over ... Messes requiring insights beyond my largely unread blog of personal grievances (received or given), or remembrances only half-heartedly "shared".

I've come to the end of my intent and purpose with "The Fall of Jeff Glovsky"; for all intents and purposes, nearing the ...

 

And Neither Are You

"We vomit on all these people who suddenly say they are our friends."-
Dutch cartoonist Bernard "Willem" Holtrop, Charlie Hebdo, Libération

needless ...

 

Je ne suis pas "Charlie".

I'm all for free speech ... our First Amendment ... Religious tolerance ... artistic Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité ... and I feel Voltaire.

100%.  Unequivocally.  Deeply.  Fiercely.

BUT ... Despite these truths, held to be self-evident ... 

In the same way one doesn't walk through the streets, loudly swearing or screaming racial epithets ... shouldn't bash and attack, bully, name-call, defame ... wouldn't think (most of us) of insulting one's parents -- an elderly couple, the sick or disabled -- in overtly derisive or hurtful language, simply because we are "free" and we CAN ...

With these same social, civilized, common sense constructs, every culture, religion should be respected.

These filters were often missing in Charlie Hebdo - replaced by offensive antagonism and needless provocation ... not "in the name of", but rather, too often, confused with "freedom".

YES:  Unequivocally, deeply, fiercely - Charb, Cabu, Wolinski and Tignous, the four cartoonists killed in last week's barbaric, 12th century act of non-secular "vengeance", had every right to choose their battles, and (should have had) every freedom to wield their satirical depictions of whichever "intouchable" archetype they wished (whether it's "forbidden" to visually depict one of these, the Prophet Muhammad; or in fact, it's not).

But knowing the 'nothing to lose' hoplelessness and diseased mental functioning which informs fundamentalism, from abortion clinic bombings to Haredi violence to jihadi terror ... Simply put, Why go there?

If you know that what you do -- say, write, depict, draw -- can inflame ... and you choose to do it anyway, defying potential consequences -- announced, threatened consequences -- Are you to blame?

Put another way, perhaps more palatably:  to what extent do you share responsibility for what happens as a consequence of your informed disregard?

This is only food for thought.  In no way (it should go without saying) do I feel anything but revulsion, condemnation and hate in response to the cowardice, barbarism, intolerance and delusional idolatry of the Charlie Hebdo killers ... and all jihadists, terrorists, takers of life, regardless of the color of flags, gods or skin.

"Fuck You." - Charlie

But instead of inciting ... inviting, in fact, causing carnage ... provoking loss of life, dragging colleagues, neighbors, countrymen into what amounts to battles in war ... 

Why not stand down for a minute or two?  Use common sense.  Apply a filter ... not because you're 'forced to'.  But because you CAN.

That's the freedom it makes sense to choose.