Please do not confuse love

With stimulation of your genitals.

Just suggesting that.

Do whatever you wish.

In that vein, do not expect the government to pay your medical bills.

I woke up after sleeping fairly well, but not long enough. Pakistan is playing Bangladesh at Lord’s in London. Looks like a good game so far. There is a rhythm and timelessness to cricket. I listen to the satisfying thunk of a bat striking the ball. They seem to come at a regular interval.

I was curious as to where Northbound Silver Meteor #98 would intersect with Southbound Silver Meteor #98 this morning. Sometime around 1:30 AM, they intersect just North of Fsyetteville, North Carolina. This is your useless tidbit of information for the day.

Saving souls works through a gentle heart. I don’t know where that came from.

And I’m tired now.

This tooth deal is bigger than I thought, as my good buddy Olivia pointed out. The actual extraction was OK. The novacaine was a good local anaesthetic. After the extraction comes the course of antibiotic and the pain meds. I didn’t feel the need for hydrocodone after yesterday. I’m taking naproxen now, an NSAID. The antibiotic plays havoc with my intestinal flora, so plenty of yogurt for me.

J’s work schedule compels me to be up when she gets up, although with cricket starting at 530 AM, her early starts dovetail nicely with my latest diversion.

The political scandals here in the States are about to explode. I fear very much that some high profile political figures will be involved in human trafficking and drug smuggling cases. An awful lot of well-intentioned people will discover that their anti-Trump outrage was ginned up to provide cover for the crooks. Just sayin’.

I’m tired. Part of the recovery, I think,

.

India and Bangladesh are facing off. India is batting first. They have 133 runs for 0 wickets Rohit Sharma just hit another 6. I don’t know what to say. This is a remarkable partnership with Rahul. Both could have centuries.

I got up way too early. I shall go back to bed. But watching cricket is like eating salty snacks like peanuts or a bag of crisps. “Just one more ball, one more over.” “I’ll turn it off when they take the first (next) wicket”. Pretty soon the morning has evaporated.

I have come to think of India and Bangladesh differently from watching Cricket World Cup. Prior to the tournament, I thought of these nations in terms of their problems and little else. These nations have their competitiveness and sportsmanship on display. They have every right to be proud.

There is something evocative of the Nineteenth Century reflected in this match. Sure the technology is much advanced. But spirit of the Empire lives on.

“Sleep with your head elevated.” They told me. It has been quite a day. I’m tired, a little emotional. It isn’t a big deal to get these particular teeth yanked.

And now. I will try to sleep.

What do we really know? How do we know it? What narratives do we accept as true for history?

What does this have to do with it getting late? I’m watching a documentary produced maybe 35 years ago, La Belle Epoque. It is an admirable presentation, but it presents a bias, a bias that we think exposes the Truth, rather than obfuscates it.

The premise is that there were, at that time, incredibly wealthy people, and then there was everybody else, living lives of material desperation. That there was a middle class, who owned houses, bought life insurance, educated their children, both sons and daughters. From these educated women, came the suffragettes. It was a middle class phenomenon. That is but one example.

My point is that the narrative exaggerates the class differences and class struggle, by ignoring the sizable bourgeoisie.

The authors and producers of this work, along with many other scholars pay inordinate attention to Freud and Marx. Other figures given attention, Darwin, Nietzsche become the other figures in the pantheon. Were no other scholars and thinkers at work then? Were there other artists besides the ones championed by Gertrude Stein and her brothers? Who else was writing music besides the favorites of the avant garde? There is an assumed narrative that we readily accept.

In the next few years, people are going to challenge the narrative of that age we call The Twentieth Century. You heard it here first.