„Într-o epidemie nu există “eu”. Dar cum să explici asta unui popor care a zămislit expresii despre capra vecinului și decât să plângă mama…”

Pe lumea asta, există două feluri de expresii.
‘Citate celebre’ și proverbe.

Citatele sunt expresia gândirii cuiva.
Înainte de a deveni celebre – adică înainte de a fi acceptate în spațiul cultural unde circulă, au fost gândite de cineva. De cineva deja cunoscut.

Și proverbele au trecut prin aceleași faze.
Au fost întâi gandite de câte cineva și apoi au fost răspândite. În și de către populație. Tocmai pentru că idea exprimată era o expresie adecvată realității momentului. Și vor continua să circule pe toată durata în care idea respectivă își va păstra relevanța.

Există totuși o diferență fundamentală.

De cele mai multe ori, citatele atrag atenția asupra unui proces tranzitoriu în timp ce proverbele doar constată o anumită realitate.

„Puterea corupe iar puterea absolută corupe în mod absolut!” Lord Acton, 1887
„Nu atât că puterea corupe, dar că ea îi fascinează pe indivizii coruptibili!” Frank Herbert, circa 1965.
„Capul plecat, sabia nu-l taie!”

Primele două, citate, exprimă foarte clar o evoluție. Un sistem politic, suficient de stabil pentru a se afla într-o continuă autoevaluare, își rafinează percepția despre sine însuși. Indivizi preocupați își folosesc timpul pentru a se gândi la ceea ce îi preocupă iar concluziile lor sunt suficient de interesante pentru restul populației încât să fie băgate în seamă. Făcute să circule. Să circule suficient de intens încât să ‘rafineze’ modul în care populația se raportează la problema tratată.
Ultima spunere, un proverb, doar constată. O realitate. Realitatea unui sistem politic aflat într-o continuă frământare. O frământare atât de intensă încât doar ‘nebunii’ își mai asumă ‘ridicarea capului’.

Suntem, România – pentru prima oară, într-o stare de relativă normalitate.
De suficientă stabilitate încât să ne re-evaluăm proverbele.

Pe care să le folosim pentru a ne înțelege – pe noi înșine.

Asta fiind singura cale spre ‘luminița de la capătul tunelului’.

Tunel unde vom mai zăbovi până la Sfântul Așteaptă.
Adică atâta vreme cât vom mai folosi proverbele pentru a ne da singuri la gioale.

„Să moară și capra vecinului” a fost, din-totdeauna, expresia reproșului popular la adresa individualismului exprem.
„Decât să plângă mama, mai bine să plângă mă-ta” este cât se poate de rațional.

Proverbele reprezintă o provocare mult mai mare decât citatele.
Citatele sunt mult mai clare decât proverbele.
Citatele sunt, dacă vreți, pre-mestecate. Pre-digerate. Exprimă clar intenția autorului.

Proverbele sunt mai ‘opace’. Sunt mult mai dispuse la interpretări.

Interpretările ne aparțin nouă.
Nouă, celor care spunem că vrem să ieșim din tunel.

Nouă, care – de prea multă vreme de-a lungul istoriei, una am spus și alta am făcut.

Attempting to value individualism over collectivism is similar to trying to establish which came first, the chicken or the egg.

Having experienced both – collectivism and individualism put in practice as political principles, I have noticed that neither extreme is capable of working in a sustainable manner.

Communist regimes had fallen one after another.
Fascist regimes did the very same thing.
Pirate republics could never resist for long.

Coming back to what is happening in the US, I’m afraid very few people are aware of how much collective thinking had been embedded in the American Psyche. The good kind of collective thinking…
Americans go to church. A place where you go to to be together, not alone.
Americans used to help each-other. Charity used to be a big thing. Slowly, it had become a dirty word.
And so on.

Individuals can not exist on their own. They need each other to survive. And to thrive.
Collectives can not last for long unless the individuals who constitute them do respect each-other. Help each-other maintain and develop their individuality.

As simple as that.

I had recently shared this image on FB:

“Those are called Witches Stairs. Allegedly, witches can’t climb up them. You will occasionally find them in very, very old New England homes.

(photo by Daphne Canard)”

Yesterday I got a notice from FB:

I presume this was the ‘consequence’ of some artificial intelligence employed by FB doing its job.

Doesn’t make much sense but…

For whatever reason, I made a screen capture of the notice and shared it on FB.
A friend asked me about the original post.
I looked it up and it was no longer there!
I searched FB for the picture… and there it was. Shared multiple times by multiple people. Sometimes with the accompanying text, sometimes baren.
And, at least once, bearing a very similar warning:

I’m not questioning FB motives for fact checking the information on its walls.
That’s a good idea.
Only I’m not so sure the ‘artificial’ intelligence FB uses to implement that idea is intelligent enough for the task….

Meghan and Harry had a chat with Oprah.
Which had eventually been broadcasted on TV.
Basically, there was nothing new nor really interesting there. For me, anyway.
Yet there’s a lot of reaction.

I don’t really care about the reason for which the royals have treated Markle the way they did.
About the reason which convinced the couple to speak up.
The individual reasons for those who comment on the internet to do it as each of them had chosen to do it.

There are two points I need to make here.

The fact that they are rich and famous doesn’t change the fact that the oppression they’re speaking about is real….Maybe they experience it differently… maybe they have it easier when speaking about it… but opression continues to be dealt. Among us, by people like us.

And, secondly but just as important, those three weren’t discussing about mere oppression.
They were talking about racist oppression!

Could this be the reason for so many people taking issues on this subject?

I fully agree with Sowell but the fact that Sowell is right doesn’t change the fact that we’re the ones responsible for present day racism.

While shooting this, something dawned on me.

I’m more familiar with Manhattan than with the town where my wife was born. Where my mother in law still lives…

I had visited New York on three ocassions. I had spent there three, maybe four, weeks. In total!
I’ve driven to Dej, my better half’s birthplace, for at least 50 times. And mind you, getting there from Bucharest, by car, takes about the same amount of time as that spent in a plane flying from Bucharest to JFK…

In NYC, I used to stay at my late uncle’s. In Garden City. Almost every working day, I took the early train into Penn Station and wore my soles out criss-crossing the island. Alone, the first two times, accompanied by my wife and little son during the last ocassion.
Whenever we come to visit my in-laws we almost never leave the house. Except for buying groceries. To go to the cemetery. Or, rarely, to visit some derelict castle …

Why?
Does it really matter?!?
Do we actually need explanations for everything?

Why can’t we just wonder? Specially at the strange things which happen to us…

Or, more exactly, when we realize how strangely we had behaved ourselves for such a long time!

Imagine having a festering boil. On your ass, for good measure.
You may take to the doctor, for treatment.
Or you may wait, hoping your organism will be strong enough to heal itself.
This being your call.
Nobody else but you has anything to say about this situation.
Let’s say you have chosen to go to the hospital.
Once there, the matter has gotten somewhat ‘out of your hands’. You still have the last word but the doctor calls the more important shots. Pun indended, of course.
He can simply open up the boil, put you on a course of antibiotics and send you home.
He might decide to check you up and see whether the boil is a symptom of something deeper.
He might attempt to rip you off by ordering, all at once, a host of complex tests and of fancy treatments.
Or all at once.
Cut up your boil, set you on a course of antibiotics, order a decent set of tests and still rip you off.
‘Is there a point to all these?’
Yep!
How the ‘good’ doctor will choose to treat you is the consequence of how you have chosen him. And of how the community you belong to had chosen to organise its health system.
But the more consequential decision, whether to go to the doctor in the first place, is yours.
I’m not going to analyse the factors you have to balance – we’d go back to how the community you belong to had chosen to organise its health system.
I’m only going to parade the possible outcomes.
A nice scar on your butt and a decent tab for you – or for your insurer, to pick up on your way out.
Acompanied, hopefully, by an otherwise clean bill of health.
A nice scar, and a clean bill of health, accompanied by an outrageous invoice.
These being the ‘good’ outcomes.
The doctor might find out, after reading the test results, that you also have, say, a blood disease. One perfectly treatable by modern medicine. But which would have easily killed you if you had waited much longer.
The doctor might also find out, after reading the test results, that the boil is the symptom of an incurable disease. One which will kill you for sure. Only now you’ll die in the relative comfort of the available paliative treatment you can afford.
Or you might choose to nurse your boil at home.
Get out fine. And a lot cheaper!
Die of an apparently unrelated disease six months later.
Or pass out because of a sepsis which had eventually became untreatable. Due to your own prevarications….
‘And what has the boil on my ass to do with Covid?!?’
Covid is a boil on our collective ass.
We might decide to treat it ‘on the go’, hoping that on the ‘other side’ our lives will return to normal.
Or we might decide to use it as an opportunity!
An opportunity to clean up our act….

Am un prieten, IT-ist, care-mi trimite, pe mail – din când în când, câte un newsletter.

Ăsta era de la start-up.ro. Adica de la ‘început în sus’…

Conform traducerii propuse de aceștia, vestiții ‘cercetători de la NASA’ s-au apucat să crească struguri – de vin, dar amănuntul ăsta nu are prea mare relevanță, „pe stația spațială”.

Băbăeți… eu știam că tehnologia modernă este extrem de precisă. Și că necesită un limbaj cel puțin la fel de precis…
Dacă instrucțiunile despre ce ai de făcut și informațiile pe baza cărora te apuci de treabă nu sunt foarte clare… cum să iasă ceva cu adevărat bun?!?

În condițiile astea, continuăm să folosim limbajul dezvoltat de bunicii noștri pentru a descrie voiajul pe calea ferată atunci când vine vorba despre călătoriile spațiale?
Dacă zâmbeam în colțul gurii când o auzeam pe bunica povestindu-mi la telefon – din ăla cu disc, ce a vorbit pe tren cu vecinii de compartiment, mă îngrozesc de spaimă atunci când cineva din generația fiului meu – student la informatică, pune la cale fraza

Cercetătorii cresc struguri de vin pe Stația Spațială Internațională

OK, bunica era oarecum neglijentă în exprimare. Dar asta și pentru că, pe vremea ei – în timpul refugiului, foarte mulți dintre ‘călători’ se urcau, efectiv, „pe tren”.


Aceiași laxitate din partea generația strănepoților ei mă îngrijorează.
Oamenii ăștia oare știu că strugurii chiar nu pot crește PE (adică ‘afară din’, ca să fiu de-a dreptul pedant), stația spațială?

Până la urmă, bunica a călătorit cu trenul. În tren, pe tren… măcar a fugit pe lângă calea ferată. A făcut cu mâna, dintre gâște, atunci când trecea Orient Expresul!
Strănepoții ei sunt bombardați cu tot felul de teorii… Că americanii n-au fost, de fapt, pe lună… Că Pământul e plat, că vaccinurile nu sunt bune și că ăsta pentru ‘Covrig’ are un cip de la Bilgheitz…

Facem și noi un pic de ordine?
În viețile noastre, nu altundeva!

Mi-am luat cuptor.

A venit cu instrucțiuni

Bon apetit!

After ‘firing’ Trump, the President, America’s most important stake-holders, “we, the People”, are scrambling to adapt to what Trump had laid bare.

Books are being written.
Many blame Trump. And explain, in detail, what he had done while manning the Oval Office.

The G.O.P. is somewhat fractured. Some want to get over Trump, others to hide behind his still towering presence.
The Dems act like he was a mere accident. One which can, and they are hard at work attempting to do it, be ‘band-aided’ with some money. Government money, of course.

A few years ago, I had read an interesting article claiming that Trump had been made possible by the media.
Googling to find it, I stumbled upon another. Which summarizes what Trump had done to the media

I still have to find, only I’ve lost patience, an explanation for what had ‘fed’ Trump.
Trump as social phenomenon…

For too long, a small group in our nation’s capital has reaped the rewards of government while the people have borne the cost.
Washington flourished but the people did not share in its wealth.
Politicians prospered but the jobs left and the factories closed.

Trump has made himself famous. Among others, for imparting new meaning to the concept of ‘fake-news’. And for using “alternative facts” to introduce us to an ‘alternative reality’. His…

Only his reality did have something in common with that faced by many of his fellow Americans.

Middle class incomes have shrunk 8.5 percent since 2000, after enjoying mostly steady growth during the previous decade. In 2011, the average income for the middle 60 percent of households stood at $53,042, down from $58,009 at the start of the millennium.

Oops!
Suddenly, Trump’s ‘alternative’ reality – part of it, at least, has become one with that experienced by “we, the People”. By a majority of them, anyway.

What made so many people – dispirited, undoubtedly, believe that a self professed pussy grabber and proud member of the Washington establishment would solve their real-life problems… by ‘draining’ the very ‘swamp’ in which he had grown to his present stature … that’s something for other people to explain.

My point being that Trump’s behavior had very closely followed that of Goethe’s Apprentice Sorcerer. He had used his uncanny knack of playing hide-and-seek with reality to climb into the Oval Office only to be fired after one mandate.
To be the first American President who had survived two impeachments.
And the second one who had witnessed – more or less unmoved, the untimely demise of half a million Americans due to disease

But the first who had done that during a mostly peaceful mandate. Pandemic, true enough, but otherwise peaceful.

NB. The ‘Spanish Flu’ pandemic, which had happened during Woodrow Wilson’s mandate, had caused the death of 675 000 Americans. Only that had occurred just after a world war, when viruses hadn’t yet been discovered and man hadn’t yet walked on the Moon.

What will happen next?

Who knows… Goethe’s poem had a relatively happy ending because a master sorcerer was at hand. Who had solved the problem with a swift gesture of his powerful wand.

No such easy solution is available now.
But one thing has become clear.
Again…

Two things, actually.
Too many dispirited people eventually become a powerful – and highly unstable, ‘Petri dish’. Where all kinds of ‘social experiments’ might ‘spontaneously’ explode.
And playing with people’s passions might take you places. But will, almost always, end up badly.

I’ve been an avid reader all my life.

Libraries, book shops – new and second hand, used to be my home away from home.

Communism crumbling under it’s own weight in my home country, Romania, widened even more my already special relationship with the written word.
Books nobody would even had dared to dream about got translated into Romanian.
Or even got imported in original.

As borders became more and more open, I’ve also ‘imported’ some myself.

The honeymoon lasted for a while.
Only at some point I was no longer ‘comfortable’ in most bookshops. If anything, there was ‘too much of it’. Too much of the good stuff, to much ‘noise’… Not enough time to read everything I would have liked to… so I gave up.
I gave up compulsively visiting book shops, not reading…

Then, in 2007, something happened.
Anthony Frost English Bookshop” happened.

A real place hosting literature, arts, non-fiction and comic books from all around the world.

The really special thing about it?
There was no ‘noise’ in there!
None of the books I’d found on its shelves ever seemed ‘out of place’. Most of them, of course, were of little – if any at all, interest for me. Yet they seemed worthwhile, if you understand what I mean.

The good thing lasted for almost 10 years.

At some point I found a ‘closing soon’ placard hanging on the door.
I didn’t even enter that day. Too sad.

I can’t say I’d given up visiting book shops.
Only that I had stopped doing it with gusto.
And, certainly, that I had given up perusing book store shelves.

I’d started to rely of friends ‘telling’ me what to read.
Real life friends, Facebook friends… you name it.

And I continued to do it.
Only my scope had become nearer and nearer.
Without even realizing what was going on….

Until a good friend of mine – a real life friend, told me – on Facebook, that Anthony Frost was alive and kicking!

Hiding behind a different name, a few hundreds meters from the old place, but the very same thing.
A rather small location full to the brink with the good stuff!

Visiting it, and perusing its shelves, I realized – with a shudder, that my intellectual bubble had shrunk.
Became ‘deeper’ – debatable, but certainly narrower!

Go find your own books!

Anthony Frost, in Bucharest, is a good place to start!
Or to rekindle your love affair with the printed word.