Ah, The Arrogance

I was just reading a copy of The Bali Advertizer - well, as far as possible, anyway before the pervasive stench of the paper begins to make your eyes water. Of course, there is the always interesting column by Richard Laidlaw, a friend of mine, a long time resident of Bali, originally from Australia, but other than that ... nada. But the thing that really caught my eye was a small ad about learning bahasa Indonesia, featuring the happy news that one might even learn to talk to "staff". I'm sorry, but this just struck me as hilarious. I couldn't stop giggling for the the longest time! Talk to your staff That which had previously been a flowerpot or a broom has now become a real person!

Underground

As far as it is possible, I prefer for everything to proceed in the exact same way every day. I'd like to say that this is because I'm just naturally a creature of habit, or because familiarity is naturally comforting to me, but the fact is, it's because my brain doesn't function properly. If the unexpected is encountered, it's as if I have suddenly slipped into an alternate universe. What happened? Where am I? What do I do now?

I always take the same exact route everywhere I... go. Nearly every day, I go to the Starbucks at Plaza Renon. I take the same route and I park in the outdoors lot.

As I pulled into the lot this evening, however, I was told by the parking attendant that the lot is full.

"Jadi, harus ke mana?"

"Harus ke bawah."

"Oh. Di mana itu?"

"Um ... di bawah."

Ok!

But I had never been to the underground parking lot. Where exactly was it? Pasti, underground, but where is the entry. And how do you get out again? Hmm. I could just go home, but ... No, by God, I'm goin' in!

So I found the entry, took my ticket from the machine (though parking is free anyway - it says so on the machine - go figure), and down I went.

I parked my bike, rushed up the escalator (asyik!), entered Starbucks, bought my latte, cozied down at my table ... But damn, I'd forgotten my cigarettes in the bike compartment.

Back to the parking lot. Should just take a couple secs ... but hold on ... where the hell is my bike?

After I had toured the fairly small lot for a while, the guard asked whether he could help with something.

"Ya, uh, ha ha, I can't find my bike."

"Ok. I help you. What is license number?"

Damn! I should know this. I do know this. Except, at the moment, I don't.

"Ok. Nggak apa-apa. What color?"

"White!"

Whew. I feel like a Jeopardy contestant. What is white!

So we tour the place together, eventually unravel the mystery. The bike happens to be where I parked it maybe 10 minutes ago.

As I walk back to the escalator, I note the point of entry. Enter here. Turn left. Easy.

My coffee has gone cold, but at least I have my cigarettes.

Resy comes over and we talk a while, then Iadi comes over and we talk a while too, and then I read a chapter from the book I brought.

Upon descending ke bawah lagi, I exit the door, turn left, and ... Well, how about that, my bike has disappeared once again.

So I begin the search for the second time this evening, and I begin to vaguely worry that someone will report up above that there's a suspicious looking white dude lurking aimlessly around the parking lot below.

4655! Bingo! That's the number! I feel like finding the parking attendant from earlier to let him know I've remembered the number - but, of course, that doesn't really make sense at this point. I'm not crazy. Just stupid.

Ah, there it is, praise God, my bike!

And now one final question, Alex. How long do you reckon it takes for me to find the exit?

The Last Star

"Penderitaan itu perlu. Penderitaan adalah kehidupan. Tanpa penderitaan, takkan ada kegembiraan."

A while back, I ordered book two of this three book series by Rick Yancey, but, not surprisingly, it never arrived. So I kind of brushed up on the plot through an internet review and forged on to book three, The Last Star.

I found it, like book one, tightly plotted and consistently entertaining and inventive. The development of the central characters was carried nicely through to the end.

When an advanced alien race invades the earth and carries out, through a 5-wave plan, the erasure of millions and the collapse of civilized structure, the final results are not bound to be pretty--and Yancey cuts no corners in this regard. What he shows the reader, ultimately, and what the aliens also discover, is that love itself cannot be defeated. It continually rises from the ruins, gaining strength through every defeat--a strength that cannot be matched or overcome by technology or scheming. Thus the quote above: Suffering is necessary. Suffering is life. Without suffering, gladness has no meaning.

Many are sacrificed, many are martyred, and yet their deaths continually give birth to new life, ever fortifying the relentless will to survive and prevail. This is what the aliens did not know, could not comprehend, and could not have foreseen. It was, ironically, their own doom from the beginning.

The Sunset Express

Stumbled upon a very fine movie this evening called "The Sunset Express", from a play by Cormac McCarthy (author of a number of well known novels, including All the Pretty Horses and The Crossing). The play features two actors only, Tommy Lee Jones and Samuel L. Jackson. It is a sharply intelligent dialog of opposites: faith and disbelief, love and hatred, intellect and spirit, hope and despair, life and death. From a contemporary master of English prose, this extremely well acted play is well worth one's time.

Paradise

I knew paradise once, and there were not any palm trees. There was not even much sunshine, except in the summer. It was made up of little things, poor things, like love, like trust, like soft words and old songs, and light that can never be matched by invention, the sort of light that can interpret darkness, the flame that hovers above the wick. Everything other than this (and all things are other) has been hypocrisy, at best no more than hope, and hope misplaced, a grotesque masquerade, an aping insult to what it cannot comprehend. This is what we mean when we speak of taking God's name in vain. What a sad and pale shadow we cast, accomplishing nothing other than the obstruction of light. Do you really think that I would cry over such a thing? What has this nothing, this fabricated dream, to say in the remembrance of purity?

Loopy

Feeling a bit loopy this morning. Got up too early, I guess. Went to microwave my breakfast and microwaved the roll of paper towels instead. I can tell you that the taste is decidedly dry, the texture rather fibrous, and they cannot be swallowed without a whole lot of water.

Seriously, though, the problems I experience with cognitive function as a result of MS are generally at their worst either in the morning or if there is too much going on at the same time. In the morning, it is best to sit for a time, have a cup of coffee, patiently wait while all the systems come on line, kind of like an old style computer booting up. 

There's often not much to do about information or activity overload, other than stop, if at all possible, admit that you're having a problem, and hope that the cessation of activity for a time will not prove a critical measure. 

Amen

Amen is a true war story about true war heroes - not the kind that throw themselves on grenades or lead the charge up the hill or command great armies, but the rarest kind of all, the kind who possess the courage and the integrity to object to what is clearly objectionable, sacrificing their own comfort and safety for the sake of the truth, and for the lives of their fellow men.

An SS officer, in charge of clean water production, learns that a chemical he is using to purify water is also being used to gas hundreds of thousands of Jews in concentration camps. At first he is disbelieving, but then sees it for himself as his fellows proudly demonstrate the gas chamber.
The officer immediately goes to the Protestant church of which he is a member, but finds only excuses, denials, fairy tales. No one is being killed, he is told. They are being moved to different countries.

He goes then to the Catholic Church and is met with a generally similar response, except from a single priest, who, through his father, has connections to the Pope himself.

But when this priest goes to the Pope, he is told that he is being unrealistic. There is diplomacy to be considered, and the safety of the Vatican, and the problem of objecting to Hitler and not to Stalin. It's not as simple as simply speaking out against the murder of Jews. Aside from that, the Pope wants proof, and the Americans want proof.

In the meantime, the SS officer pleads with his church pastor and committee to speak the truth, to instruct the parishioners to pin the yellow star of David on their clothing. They can't kill us all.
Madness, he is told. It is still only 1942. The German people are cozy. The economy is strong. And undesirables are simply being removed from the good population (sound familiar?).

The young priest tries again, taking the SS officer with him to the Vatican this time. But Italy has been invaded by the Allies and the Pope is trying to save Italians, and also the holy sites that are being bombarded.

Have patience, the priest is told. God will make all things right.

Dumbfounded, stupefied, the priest stumbles backward, then slowly withdraws a yellow star from his pocket, pins it on his cloak, and walks to the train depot to line up with the Jews about to be transported.

This is the way God makes things right. Through one caring person at a time. One man of integrity. One hero.

The SS officer, discarding his uniform, escapes Germany and enters the Allied lines in France. He carries documents, plans, names, details. It is concluded by the Allied staff members that no man of God would ever have donned an SS uniform. He is, he is told, guilty of murder. He is jailed, and hangs himself in the jail cell.

The young priest dies in the gas chamber.

Later on, during the Nuremburg trials, the testimony of these two men was used in the conviction of Nazi war criminals.

Ultimately, in the hindsight of history, they did not die in vain. Neither, however, while living, did they choose, like so many others, to live in vain.