Blindsided by Hope
By R. D. Flavin

9-27-2013

     I can only speak for myself, but I've been “Blinded by the Light” since Bruce's 1973 debut, had a further dalliance with Manfred Mann in 1976, and despite the years of caution I continue to take a peek at the Sun occasionally.  Sorry, Mom, but that's still where the fun is!  Okay, as I'm getting older and the eyes are getting weaker, I've been known to wear a Dollar-Store pair of sunglasses to keep the retinal burn to a minimum.  Sometimes it works better than others, but even when it doesn't I get these huge phosphene lozenges in bright electric colors.  This week, rockin' the cheap shades of Lt. Horatio Caine, I was blindsided by hope as the Senate reinstated funding for healthcare and kicked it back to the House.  Gosh, maybe we won't have a government shutdown on Monday after all!  Plus, I hear that science has come up with a replacement for alcohol that doesn't hurt your liver – it's called 'weed', but only some states offer it for sale.  Maybe there's hope for all of us yet...

     There's seems to be hope that we won't be bombing Syria back to the Neolithic anytime soon.  Not that there was anything wrong with the Neolithic, mind you, as hunters and gatherers were switching over to agropastoralist lifestyles and some were even replacing their stone axes with these new chunks of copper-rock that could be melted, shaped, sharpened, and used to stab your enemies.  The 15-member United Nations Security Council has voted to go sight-seeing in Syria, pick up some 1000 tons of chemical weapons (along with related technical tchotchkes), have a big bon-fire and invite friends.  I'm thinking the “big bonfire” might need a change of location, and my first thought would be the small towns in Georgia in advance of the filming of the fourth season of AMC's The Walking Dead, but I should have a second cup of coffee and rethink that...  Now, the 'hope' thing with Syria remains in play as the current weasels have agreed to round up the evil gases and dispose of them, however there's no mention of sanctioned actions should Syria not produce all of their chemical weapons by mid-2014.  There's nothing in the fine print at this point and it would take another 15-member United Nations Security Council vote to authorize a few hundred MGM-140 ATACMS redecorating the Syrian countryside.  When they vote, I hope they authorize the release of the Assad-goat sex-tape as it would surely uplift the non-Al-Aqaeda rebels (unfortunately the Al-Qaeda guys will probably get a kick out of it).  So, there's a blindside in the backseat hope we may get to bomb Syria yet, just probably not anytime soon...

     Continuing and stepping up from the Whac-A-Terroist to Regime-Change-Barbie-in-the-Ba'ath, I'm liking this new kinda' less anti-Semitic (but still bloody bull's balls anti-Zionist) Iranian President Hassan Rouhani, who spoke at the U.N.this week and passed out of the usual propaganda croquettes (a spicy blend of threats and promises), and who denied being pro-nuke and it's all a misunderstanding of a new top-secret electronic-grid they've got in the works that will be cheap and be able to hack into Western journalist's pay-walls, EU/US cable television subscription services, and also racially customize the new Grand Theft Auto V so that all on-screen law-enforcement officially must wear “Have You Pet Your Persian Today?” t-shirts.  President Rouhani is expected to “hopefully” meet with the the P5+1, the latest twerp-name for US, Russia, Britain, France, China and Germany meeting in one room with the shades drawn.  So, 3-6 months is a good wait to see if Syrian has further jeopardized peace in the region and if Iran wants to trade some goods for cash, as long as they can cut the “Death To Israel” Möbius strip they've been running for years.

     More blindsided hope was had this week as His Holiness Pope Francis told the Flock to back off on harassing gays and lesbians and do something more Christian-like (read: charitable) with their time, and even encouraged the rabid anti-abortionists to not "interfere spiritually" (i.e., dressing and behaving like Nazi Zombies) in front of legal pro-choice abortion clinics.  I hope the Vatican installs a few more taste-testers over the months—one can't be have too clean of a ex cathedra—as according to Dan Brown there are enemies all over Vatican City who would, just once, expose Pope Francis as secretly against soccer and preferring ping-pong.  Still, such a brave Holy Father despite his Papal infallibility, especially when it comes to his choice of footwear...

     To be blindsided usually has wicked icky connotations with lots of surprise pain, physical and mental, loss of every earned or unearned thing, damage like a lone vegan trapped in an after-hours butcher-shop, or even the online release of those selfies you took last summer of my junk after it got burned by that nasty barbeque sauce and with agreed upon further litigation (or at least drinks or coffee)....  Well, you certainly don't see them all coming!  Sauce-lady, call me...

     We welcome hope even, let's make that especially, when we don't see it coming.  You've been waiting 25 minutes in the cold rain for an overworked MBTA bus to make an appearance, and as your toes begin to enjoy their unexpected cool rinse, a bus splashed to a stop right in front of you.  As you wait ten minutes for the handicapped, the morbidly obese, and the nannies with their triple-carriages to disembark, you search for hope within you that there will be a seat on that long overdue MBTA bus – and there is!  Flooded with water from a broken window.  It's better than walking, you know.  You could get hit by a bicyclist...

     As we wait to decide if we're going to use the microwave or toaster-oven on Syria, public manners requires we keep it zipped regarding speculation what the Fab Farsi will bestow upon us after we presented them with the cool ca. 700 BCE Persian silver drinking chalice called takuk (تکوک) with the body of a lion and the wings and head of a bird.  Who knows, maybe Mohammad Rezā Shāh Pahlavī has a few Chagalls or Matisse in a dusty warehouse somewhere. One can hope...

Putting the shades back on,
Rick

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