Cinnamon Pop Tarts

(Albany, NY) - So I had to document this.  I popped into a Stewart's convenience shop to get gas and a cup of coffee.  It was on the way out of town and I was on my way home after having a pretty good work day.

I filled my tank and went inside to get a coffee.  There were two women in their mid to late twenties behind the counter.  One was eating a cinnamon Pop Tart.  The other watched her unwrap her snack and smiled at me while pointing to show where the creamer was.

The one eating said, "Mmmm, I love cinnamon."

The other young woman shook her head and agreed, "Yep, me too.  I remember when I was pregnant with my son I ate cinnamon Pop Tarts every day.  Breakfast, lunch, dinner, I've loved them Pop Tarts."

I looked up smiling back and asked, "So does your son like cinnamon Pop Tarts now?"

Without missing a beat, she said, "No, my baby died.  Cinnamon causes contractions."

I left a $5 bill on the counter as I said sorry and left.  

Gaddafi? Kadafi? Qaddafi?

Original Pan Am Boarding Pass

Gaddaffi is dead.  I read that headline with a mixture of feelings.  I was a student in London when Libyan operatives put a bomb on Pan Am 103 and blew up a planeload of young Americans flying home for the holidays.

In the fall of 1988 I lived in a big flat with four other guys near the Paddington train station while studying at the Polytechnic of North London. The school term ended on December 17th and we all had move out by the 21st. During the semester I worked part time pouring pints for customers at the Black Lion Pub in Bayswater. I'd really become part of the community. The regulars used to yell, "New York!" to get my attention when the place was crowded.

As they traditionally do in London, the pub provided room and board for the full time staff. The crew was made up of ex-pats from Australia, New Zealand and Peru. When I let the Governess know about my schedule, she offered me a position and said I could live and work for there for a few weeks before flying home for my second senior semester.

The timing couldn't have been luckier for me. Earlier in the month, I'd booked a flight home for December 21st on Pan Am 103. Yes, that flight 103. 

Behind the bar at the Black Lion Pub with Tania from Peru

When I was offered the full time gig with accommodations, I went to the STA Travel office on Euston Road, and changed my ticket to January 10th. At the time my biggest worry was how to explain to my parents that I wouldn't be home for Christmas.

By the time the 21st came, I'd already moved my backpack, suitcase, books and cassettes to a second floor room over the pub with a view of Kensington Gardens/Hyde Park. I was psyched to be making a little money so I could travel around England for a few weeks and spend a little more time with my British girlfriend, Karen.

The morning of the 22nd I was up early so I put on my running shoes and headed out the side door of the pub, planning to jog a lap around Round Pond in the Gardens.

I ran by the corner news-shop on Queensway and saw every London daily had the same headline: The terrorist sabotage of an American plane announced in bold fonts over pictures of a crushed fuselage and destroyed village homes in Lockerbie, Scotland. I stopped and read all I could. I ran back to my room and grabbed a few £ pounds off my dresser and bought the Times, the Guardian, the Telegraph and the Sun.

The pub was waking up, but it was a few hours before we had to open the doors for customers. I needed to read all I could before then. I had to know who blew up the plane I was supposed to be on. I shook. I made coffee and read. I knew I knew some of the Syracuse University students on the flight. I scanned the list. I didn't know anyone's name. I knew faces. This was before the digital age. If this happened today, in 24 hours we'd have every detail of every passenger along with their photos, home addresses and quotes from next-of-kin, but I only had black and white newsprint lists to stare at vacantly.

It was surreal. I was surprised that the papers were able to announce so quickly who they suspected was responsible...just like I was when I watched the Twin Towers collapse while all the media proclaimed al-Qaeda's guilt. I always wonder how they knew so definitively...so soon.

I finished my degree in Political Science at the State University of New York at Albany that next semester with no more clarity on international relations than the average American (whom, I can attest, is far less informed than the average citizen of anywhere else in the world, with the possible exceptions of North Korea and Papua New Guinea).

So now we have closure on the Lockerbie event. Gaddafi is dead. He never had to stand trial. He took to his grave the details of the crime.

He also took with him a lot of national security secrets about the CIA and MI6 using Libya for extraordinary rendition. It's amazing how easily people are gamed by governments that wish to manipulate public opinion. Good cop/bad cop/same cop. I'm glad he's dead. The US and UK governments are too, just for different reasons.

Order For Whom

This weekend I watched the Occupy Wall Street protesters get routed by the NYPD and funneled over the Brooklyn Bridge into human arrest nets.  It reminded me of the college semester I spent in London when a protest I was in was foiled by the same pincer maneuver.

In 1988 the British Thatcher government proposed the Education Reform Act to shift from providing government grants for higher education to forcing working and middle class students to mortgage their degrees with loans (just like their American cousins). 

I was nearly arrested on Westminster Bridge with Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament in sight.  In the beginning the demonstration was routed by the police from Vincent Square, across Vauxhall Bridge, north along the River Thames to a location we never got to.  Halfway through the demo the student organizers decided to route it back across Westminster Bridge with Parliament as the goal.  As thousands of protest marchers approached we faced a line of police on horseback with legions of uniformed Bobbies behind them. 

The mounted cops held the police line while the students rushed it.  We stood for an hour or so with our chests against horses and policemen’s boots.  I was at the front of the march and took up-close photos of cops with their hats askew as the horses bucked and neighed. Then they charged.  As we rushed back a fellow protester reminded me that it was illegal to photograph the police at demonstrations like this.  Amazing how lawful the English are in stressful moments.  With police officers shoving and swinging batons, pushing the crowd back, kids were stepped on, bloodied and knocked to the ground.  The crowd was scattered back right into more police with horses and vans and handcuffs.

It was my first participation in the exercise of fighting power with non-violence.  It was also a reminder that government, and only the government,  has a monopoly on organized violence. They always have.  Hannibal successfully executed the pincer maneuver in 216 BC against the Roman army.  Historically police and military academies have trained officers to use tactical moves against citizens to preserve order (the “order for whom” question never gets asked).  No one should be surprised by the efficiency with which the state employs violence.

I took another look at my photos from the 1988 London demonstration.  Except for the uniforms, the officers looked just like the students.  Reviewing the videos of the Wall Street occupation, I see the same stressed expressions on the faces of the kids and the cops.  It’s the same as it ever was.  The working and middle classes are forced to fight amongst themselves for justice or a paycheck in a society that mutually excludes the two.

Two Sides of Saudi Arabia Revealed on the Same Day

I read a few Google news headlines today that said Saudi Arabia was loosening up their restriction on women's suffrage. King Abdullah has declared that women will be able to vote and run in the 2015 local elections, and be on his advisory council. I wonder why it takes 3 1/2 years to make the necessary accommodations for this to happen, but hey, it's an old monarchy.

It takes societies a long time to shake off the conventions that have built up over generations. Whether enshrined in religious law or made common by practice, prejudices die hard.

Seriously, we aren't a whole lot better. I mean, prior to the Voting Rights Act being passed, blacks in America didn't have reliable access to the polls. Even though given the vote in 1870 by the 15th Amendment to US Constitution, it wasn't until 1965 that literacy tests and other racially-motivated blocks to voting were removed. 

So I start to think, "Hey, not bad for an ancient kingdom. Three and a half years is pretty quick"... and then I read that a court in Saudi Arabia has sentenced two women each to ten lashes with a whip for driving an automobile. So much for easing up on Sharia rule.

Open Leter to Tim Geithner

Dear Mr. Geithner,

As an American, an Eagle Scout and as a small businessman, I ask you: Please don't let the banks settle without going through a thorough investigation and rigorous set of public hearings.

These fraudulent lenders should be made to sit through months of victim impact statements in every state and before the US Congress. 

It's the least you could do to restore public confidence in a horribly shattered system.

Personally, I have little faith the right thing will be done.  "Treasury Secretary" is a short entry on the resume of so many Wall Street bankers that it inspires little trust.  It's like seeing “shepherd” on a wolf's resume.

Sincerely,

John Norris

New Layout & Stuff

This is my first non-commercial blog posting.  Let's face it, blogging and tweeting and whatever other social-media verb you can think of is not really an activity that the mid 40s crowd is very good at.

In college I remember when I had something to sell (and old bike or a used textbook) I'd write out a For Sale sign on a piece of copy paper with a bunch of little tear-off phone number tabs at the bottom.  I'd go to the library and, for a buck or two, photocopy enough to hang up all over campus.  

So, craigslisting and facebooking to me is like electronic ignition was to my dad.  He never trusted a car that didn't have a rotor and spark plugs. Born at the start of the last depression (1929), he was raised in the electro-mechanical age.  Heck the first Apollo rocket had less computing power than an iPhone.  They may as well have been navigating with an astrolabe and a pocket-full of breadcrumbs.

I originally sat down to look up a way to publish or get some interest in the novel I've started.  After a year of fits & starts, I'm about 75 pages into it.  No, that's a lie, closer to 50 (but in a real small font).

Here I sit now, writing with Hemingway's bravado & false machismo in one ear and the nasal sound track voice of Carrie from Sex-in-the-City in the other.   One says the work is all that matters to sound true and clean.  The other multi-tasks, worries about rent, shoes and vodka.  Truth: they both worried about vodka.  

I imagine that if there was a Real-Writers of Paris camera crew sitting in the St. Germain cafés, we'd have learned a lot more of Ernest's tortured writing process than the brief bit he left in A Movable Feast.  I don't really care too much about Carrie's manufactured urban ennui.  

Anyway, check back from time to time...I have no schedule or time--table to keep to with this project.  I will write as time and medication permits.