Valentine's Day

Day 6 with the flu, by my calculations, and still feeling fairly lousy. Spending most of the time sitting around the house coughing and watching condensed Dallas Cowboys games on YouTube (though only those that they won, as the losses would be needlessly depressing). Actually, they had a much better team this year than I had previously realized. We don't get to see real-time games here, unless we pay for a very expensive cable service or whatever. The big deal here is soccer, a game which I do not understand nor have any desire to understand. 

Today is Valentine's Day. In the past, curmudgeonly Muslim groups have sought to prohibit celebrations of the day, but I've not heard a peep out of them this year. They seem to have tired of prohibiting Christmas and Valentines and such-like. I myself don't have any very special memories of Valentine's Day. I remember that in grade school we were required to give a Valentine card to each of our fellow students. I remember also that my mother always gave us underwear on Valentine's Day. How she had come to associate the gift of underwear with the day, I don't know. But there they would be on our chairs at the table when we came down for breakfast. Of course, there was always a heart-shaped box of candy as well. 

Black Face

I was remembering today an episode from the old Star Trek series. In this episode, Kirk and the crew encounter two members of a half-white, half-black race. Split right down the nose, half the face is white as snow, the other half black as midnight. One of these aliens, as I recall, was played by Frank Gorshin, whom you may remember as a popular vocal impressionist. Also, he played The Riddler in the old Batman series. 

In any case, these two aliens were at odds with one another, and one of them, the non-Gorshin alien, was seeking asylum aboard the Enterprise, pursued by space ICE agent, Gorshin. Timely, right? 

Well, Kirk and his fellow starship  officers were having a difficult time understanding just what the problem was, and as Gorshin endeavored to explain the situation, he mentioned the "obvious difference" between the two.

"Difference?" Kirk questioned. 

"Well, yes. Of course. Are you blind?"

Puzzled looks from Kirk and McCoy. A famously raised eyebrow from Spock, the Vulcan. 

"Well, you are both black on one side, white on the other," Kirk noted. 

"Yes! But I am white on the right side, while he is white on the left!" 

Ah ha! 

So, it was a matter of racial identity; and the superiority, as was implied, of the one over the other. 

I remember another time when I found that my stepdaughter, a teenager at the time, had been instructing her much younger brother that he needed to be "a proud black man". To me, there seemed a couple of problems with this aggressive sort of racial instruction. One was that though they were both half black and half white, the stepdaughter appeared in color and feature to be black, whereas the stepson appeared to be white. I wondered if this might cause a problem for him at his young age, personally and socially, with how he viewed himself and how he was viewed by his peers, who still thought of each other at this age as just kids rather than colors. 

Moreover, it was the desire of his mother and I that he think of himself first of all as a member of Christ, in whom there is no black or white, male or female, Jew or gentile, but all are one. 

And so I took the girl aside and explained to her that we would like the boy to center his identity in the goodness of Christ alone, where all are equal, and equally precious.

This did not go over well, as I recall. She spoke of the necessity of pride. She said that he had to own who he was, and to hell with all this fishy Christ stuff. Lol.  

I've always wondered how people arrive at the idea of pride in race. It's not as if race is something we ourselves have accomplished or achieved. We were simply born that way. What remains up to us, most importantly, and regardless of color, is how we live. Or, as Michael Jackson said, It don't matter if you're black or white. 

It does matter, of course, to the white-on-the-right-side alien. And it always will. But being proud, in turn, of being white-on-the-left-side seems hardly the answer to me. 

I dunno. Maybe I'm being impractical. Fishy. But isn't there finally a realm beyond race? Will we not ultimately reach the point where racial differentiation is simply ludicrous? Or, as Spock would say, illogical?

Well, You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. 

Needful Things

Feeling rather proud of myself today. Despite a fried brain and the flu, I was able to function sufficiently well to take care of some needful matters. First off, I needed to find and then go to a photo shop that could do a passport photo for me. Afterwards, I needed to find the American consulate, pick up the proper passport renewal forms and make an appointment to actually come in and renew. Sometimes, just engaging in what needs to be done is the answer to uncertainty and confusion. I guess I've gotten kind of spoiled over the years here in Bali, as it has been easier to leave things to my very able wife in the past, who has no trouble at all with negotiating these administrative matters. But she ain't here no more, so the only one I can turn to is myself, fried brain and all. 

Had an interesting experience at the consulate. For one thing, the guards were the friendliest damn people you'd ever hope to meet--a usual thing in Indonesia, actually, but one that an American never quite gets used to. Really, I was just wanting to make sure that I could find the consulate (in advance of actually having my passport back and being able to do business), but the guards kind of insisted that I come in and say hello! 

"Okay no passport, you come back tomorrow. But come in now and meet everyone!"

So I did. 

Very high security check, too. Empty all the pockets, turn off cell phone, take off belt, surrender wallet for examination. They even examined my spectacles to make sure there was no hidden camera. James Bond stuff. And this was all so that I could meet the employees and pick up a passport application. 

So now I've got all the documents and the photo, and I even have my passport back, and will go to the consulate again tomorrow. Maybe empty my pockets in advance (although, come to think of it, that might arouse suspicion). 

Arriving back home, I sat down outside with a coffee and suddenly had the strangest experience with my eyes--my left eye  in particular. It was like I could barely keep the eye open, and it was kind of wandering around so that everything in the world was double--which itself instantly caused a fairly severe headache and a nauseous feeling. Treated that by going to bed and falling asleep for three hours. In my dream, someone kept saying "Permisi … permisi …" Turned out not to be a dream, but an actual guy standing in my driveway wanting to deliver my passport from my immigration agent.  

Day 2

Now entering day 2 of the full-blown flu. Ugh. Fever last night caused me to throw off the bedsheets so that the AC could get directly to my skin. Head feels as heavy as a medicine ball this morning. No going back now. Got to just dig in and ride it out. These things, as I've found in the past, usually last about two weeks and tend to finally sputter out with a whole lot of coughing. Well, since I'm having to go through this irritating process of Visa and Passport renewal, I might as well be generally irritated by the flu at the same time. 

Technical Difficulties

Every year at this time of the year I must renew my permission to reside in Indonesia, and it seems like there is always some kind of problem. In eight years, it has never been a simple process. There is always a new rule, or something missing, or something additional required, or what have you. This year, the problem is with my passport. I knew that the passport would expire in December of 2019, but little did I know that this would cause a problem with the permit process eleven months beforehand. And although I told my immigration agent a year ago that the passport would expire this year, she didn't bother to tell me that I would need to renew it months in advance so as to not cause a conflict in the permit process. 

So I find myself in a rush now to get to the American consulate next week and see what I need to do to renew the passport as quickly as possible, given that my residency permit will expire next month. 

These sorts of technical difficulties become more and more challenging for me as the years pass, as they accentuate just how far down the slippery slope of cognitive dysfunction I have slid. As I put it in a conversation with my ex-wife, my functionality these days is pretty much limited to a daily trip to Starbucks for my morning coffee and then back home again. When a problem arises, when unusual matters come up that demand timely action and clear thinking, I become very quickly confused, which itself leaves me with a panicky feeling, like Oh my God, I have no idea what I'm doing!

The only thing I can do is to step back, go into one thing at a time mode, admit my confusion, look like a fool, ask for help.  People will not know that I once successfully navigated a demanding career, that I graduated from university with a 4 point average in my last two years, that I raised a son on my own and travelled around North America and published in magazines and was an accomplished pianist and taught English to foreign students and so on and so forth. I can hardly imagine it myself, for here I am, unable to figure out how to find the American consulate and renew a passport. 

To make things worse, I have developed the flu over the past couple days. Started with a sore throat, now joined by a cough, headache, body aches--you know the drill. This all turns the already deep-fried brain to little more than a lump of charcoal. 

I hate February. 

Tree and Braches

"When Indonesia successfully campaigned for a seat on the 2019-2020 United Nations Security Council last year," writes Niuban Balachandran in the Jakarta Post, "it marketed itself as a true partner for world peace, and a 'bridge builder'." 

Why then, Balachandran continues, "hasn't the world's largest Muslim-majority country not yet officially recognized the world's oldest Abrahamic and fifth largest religion, Judaism?"

Why indeed? And why would such a country be given a seat on the security council of a body devoted to representing all when in fact its leaders stubbornly refuse to do so? Not only does Indonesia not recognize Judaism as a religion, it does not even recognize Israel as a nation. 

This whole scenario has always seemed very odd to me, especially the religion part; for if there were no Judaism, there would be no Islam, or Christianity either for that matter. What can they be thinking? We were grafted into the original tree, as the apostle Paul says, and with them partake of the root and fatness of the tree, for the branches bear not the root, but the root the branches. 

If you deny the root, how can there have been branches? 

It's kind of a no-brainer, right?  

Chivalry

At first, I thought that the little black dog was just fond of the big fat brown dog. But no, it turns out that the big fat brown dog is in heat. I was surprised, because I thought she was too old for that. In fact, in her own opinion on the matter, she is too old and definitely doesn't want to be bothered with the overactive libido of the male dogs that have begun to hang around the house day and night. The little black dog has simply been more polite than most. Moreover, given that he is still just a very young dog, he has not been quite sure what to do with his intense feelings. Is this thing supposed to go in the ear, or the shoulder, or the neck, or just where? These are the exasperating doubts by which the little black dog has been assailed over the past few days. Nonetheless, he continues to pursue his efforts whenever they seem relatively safe. For instance, when the big fat brown dog is asleep. But then occasionally even he himself tires of relentless carnality and contents himself with tenderly licking her feet or nose. Which, again, is best done whilst she is asleep.  

In the meantime, a ragged crew of less gentlemanly sorts have staked themselves out on the porch and in the yard--rude, ragged, inappropriate fellows who are given to barking vicious insults at each other, at the little black dog, at the big fat brown dog, at the door, the bush, the chair, the motorbike tire--you name it. It presses the patience even of someone who is as fond of dogs as I. I doubt whether even their own mothers can stand them. 

Where to put it, therefore, becomes in a very real way least among the challenges faced by the little black dog--for he has taken for himself the mantle of Lancelot, sworn to serve and protect his damsel (and possibly mate with her, if certain body positioning puzzles can be overcome). All this chivalry ended in a hell of a ruckus yesterday evening when the big fat brown dog decided to go home, an act which required from the little black dog the proposition of a running battle against outrageous odds. Rather, the ruckus did not end. It merely moved, like a riot, to another locale. 

I will be glad when this period of fertility comes to an end. The neighbors will be glad. There is no doubt that the big fat brown dog will be glad. And I think the little black dog will be glad as well. Either glad or dead.