Be Vewy Vewy Qwiet

Well, it's that special time of year again, when Muslims the world over go into hibernation during the daylight hours, known as Ramadan.

If you don't live in a predominantly Muslim country (yet), you may not be aware of what it means to observe the Holy Month.  You also may not be aware that the observance is based on the Lunar Year, which is about two weeks shorter than a Solar Year, so over the years, Ramadan slowly precesses up the calendar, coming slightly earlier than the year before.  For instance, when I first moved to Indonesia in 2008, to escape the Shrub Administration in the US, Ramadan was in October.  This year it began in mid-April.  

 And here Catholics thought trying to figure out when Easter comes in any given year was complicated.  At least you know it always happens on a Sunday.

So anyway, during the 29 days of Ramadan, the observant practitioner refrains from eating or drinking from sun up to sun down.  In fact, the strict observers will refrain from even swallowing their own saliva, which in some places offers an interesting sight of hundreds of folks spitting all day long.

In my experience, many folks just sleep all day, so as to avoid temptation.  After about 7am, neighborhoods become deathly silent until about 5pm, when the womenfolk commence to rattling pots and pans in anticipation of sun down.

Ramadan culminates in the Eid al-Fitr, or Idul Fitri in Indonesian, which is the Feast of Breaking Fast.  To give the Western reader a sense of what this is like, imagine Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, and St. Patrick's Day all rolled into one.

In Indonesia, Idul Fitri is followed by Lebaran, which is officially a three-day holiday, but in practice is anywhere from two weeks to a month.  This holiday involves mudik (exodus), in which every living being abandons the city to pulang kampung, or return to the home town.  Mudik is followed by lavish feating and one of the most amazing redistributions of wealth known to Humankind.

Leading up to Lebaran, people exchange gift baskets of sumbako, or essential foods, usually rice, fruit syrups for flavoring water, canned goods, and homemade snacks in the form of bite-sized cookies and other sweets.

It is also a time for Tunjangan Hari Raya Keagamaan, or more commonly THR.  This literally means, "Religious Holiday Subsidy".  Employers are required by law to give all employees a 13th month of salary, while out in everyday life, it means everyone and their brother expects a tip for everything and the police become extra diligent in enforcing traffic laws.  Meanwhile, back at the kampung, folks return home with wads of cash (borrowed of course) to hand out to family members, displaying their financial success in the previous year for all to see.

One curious feature of this ostentatious display of imaginary wealth is that new car sales spike just before Lebaran, and then slightly used car sales spike roughly two to four weeks later.

The practical side of all this is that those of us who stay in the cities find ourselves in literal ghost towns for a couple of weeks after 90% of the population scattered to the winds.

Except for this year - and this is the fun part.

This year, Jakarta's illustrious and all-knowing gubbener declared that Lebaran, and specifically mudik, are cancelled in the battle to contain the spread of the Fauci Flu Damn-Panic.  Beginning May 1st, no one will be allowed to leave the city.

In most countries, this kind of officious edict might be taken seriously, but this is Indonesia, where finding creative ways of circumventing the law is a national pastime.  Instead of waiting for the annual THR payment a week before Lebaran, folks began packing up and moving out almost as soon as Ramadan began.

Around my neighborhood, shops and restaurants have shut down.  Food stalls that appear on the streets at sun down have vanished and one can actually stroll down the sidewalk unmolested.  Traffic has dwindled to early Damn-Panic levels.  The floating oil slick euphemistically called "air" in these parts, has cleared.  Offices have emptied out and ride-hailing services have added 25% to 50% to their normal tariffs in hopes of encouraging drivers to roll out of bed.

Given that Idul Fitri begins on May 12th, and under normal circumstances this would all occur around the 9th or 10th, this is really quite humorous, and it highlights not only the illusory self-importance the politicians put on themselves, but also the fact that the people aren't buying the Damn-Panic.

This shows, in all its absurdity, that numbnuts sitting in their pre-embargo ivory towers have exactly zero real power to change human nature.  It shows that folks can't be fooled forever, when they see empty hospital wards and the gubbermint handing out free Fauci Flu vaccines to dogs and cats to inflate the distribution numbers, and especially when they don't see people dropping dead in the streets.

While the early shut-down and exodus has caused some inconveniences, I still thoroughly enjoy seeing the complete repudiation of "authority" and I appreciate the Indonesian impulse to simply ignore the rules when it doesn't suit their purposes.

Most of all, I enjoy watching the delusional "leaders" being mocked in a passive-agressive kind of way.  It's almost as if folks vote for class clowns, in order to isolate them from the sane folks, where we can keep an eye on them and they have to write down all their plans so we can carefully avoid them.

Who said anarchy can't be fun?

============================================

Want to support our efforts without a bunch of corporate "guidelines" in the way?  Drop some bits on us:

Bitcoin: bc1qth6drgzcyt7vlxxpvqh6erjm0lmaemwsvf0272
Etherium: 0xf1F04715704dbC5E2e96E047D4aBc22c611B6E86
Ripple: rMSQzLyE3RHacCLwYPADBbq4RHQ71HpCzw
Litecoin: LQeH2i9vMKMNx5WaLjAGaHWjtfhKL6yqCE

An Evening At The Ritz

Special thanks to Lew Rockwell for reposting this article, and to Jeff Rense and Joseph Farrell for giving us a link.

  Jakarta is slowly waking up again, after the long sleep of hypnosis lovingly referred to as the Fauci Flu Damn-panic by Far Siders the world over.  The Great Awakening is not so much because the city's illustrious gubberner Anus Bathwater has released his iron grip on the throats of residents, so much as Indonesians have a wonderful capacity to ignore the rules when they no longer serve the people's purposes.

I have been going about my business since June of 2020.  I spent the months of March and April of that year in obligatory fear and panic.  If my wife or I went out of the house, we had a screen set up on the porch to disrobe outside, bag our clothing, sanitize, and then dash for the shower.

That was back when no one clearly understood what was going on and we took every precaution possible to keep our home as virus-free as any non-Level-4 bioweapons lab could be.

During those two months I read, I researched, I took online courses in virology.  I carefully studied every report of symptoms, revelations and possible treatments and cures.  I did everything, in fact, EXCEPT watch TeeVee, and that is most likely why I haven't been afflicted with the Fake Science Narrative Syndrome (FSNS or fiss-niss).

Once I realized that the world was living in terror of the Common Cold, my household went to Yellow Alert and we went about our lives.  The only concession I've made to the insanity since that time is to wear a cloth surgical mask, on which I cut out the cloth and replaced it with with mosquito netting.  It meets the precise letter of the law, while not restricting my airway and allowing me to demonstrate just how insane all this is.

So, speaking of insanity, I had to meet some folks last night to discuss business, and they had chosen that Great American Woke-a-tarian Church to Our Lady of Eternal Consumption, popularly known as Starbuck's.

Now I haven't sullied the soles of my sandals in a Starbuck's establishment in years.  I didn't like their ridiculous politics before the Fauci Flu Damn-panic, and after last night, I simply loath the place.

When I entered the Cathedral, I knew immediately I had crossed over into some kind of alternative reality.  Solitary worshippers, whose faces were illuminated by the sacred glow of LED screens with blazing apple logos on them, were scattered across the interior.   They were dutifully draped in their sacred N95 nose diapers, pulling them delicately to the side to sip their overpriced sacramental bean juice, apparently unaware that they were transferring millions of viruses and bacteria to their diapers every time they did so.

Every stick of furniture in the place was scaled for kindergarteners.  Tiny round tables with exactly two overstuffed chairs barely 30cm off the floor were sprinkled in a precisely measured grid throughout the interior.

The one exception was a line of five tables, each approximately 150cm long by 60cm wide (2 feet by 5 feet).  They were lined up end-to-end, and between each table, there was a "screen" of two pieces of wood paneling 50cm tall and 30cm wide, with a rather large gap in the middle.  These ridiculous appliances obviously wouldn't stop a stiff breeze, much less an invading cloud of Fauci Flu viruses, and were clearly intended to give the illusion of "safety," rather than any science-based protection.  

I made a mental note to offer sacrifice to the wood sprites in thanks for the trees that were slaughtered for this farcical display.

Though each table could easily seat 6, the four corner positions were marked with stickers that read, "Starbuck's Cares," with a big red X on them.  I suppose this was meant to say that only two people could use each table, and only if they are seated directly across from each other.  I supposed that this arrangement made it easier to spray each other in the face with mucus and saliva.  Must be some of that new-fangled Science.

I was meeting four other people, so I imagined we'd all have to do Zoom across three tables.

A chill ran up my spine, like icy ghost fingers telling me to run from this place lest the insanity be contagious.  I mustered my courage, and seeing that the folks I was to meet had not yet arrived, I moved cautiously to the counter to order.

A somber young man took a defensive position on the other side of the counter, apparently perplexed by the mosquito netting draped across my nose and mouth.

"Would you like to order," he inquired.

I ordered a cup of coffee.  He stood still for a moment, as if I had just spoken in Aleut.

"Regular or grande," he asked, indicating the amount of sacramental free-trade bean juice I desired..

"Large," I replied.

"What kind of coffee," he asked, swinging his head to indicate the menu board across the back wall.

"Hot, black, caffeinated," I said, helpfully.

"Americano," he prompted.

"No, I'm from Texas," I said.

I could literally hear the gears in his head grinding, throwing sparks and metal shavings across the interior of his skull.

"Sorry, I mean do you want Americano coffee," he said after a short pause.

"Oh, uh, sure, whatever."

"Name?"

"Americano," I replied plaintively, indicating the choice on the menu.

"No, I mean your name."

"Ah, Bernard."

He scribbled across the cup and slid it down to the young woman making the actual coffee, then turned to ring up my purchase.

"That will be 50 thousand," he announced.  I couldn't tell if he was smiling or grimmacing, since half his face was hidden behind a piece of paper.  I thought it was rather nice that they had priced the coffee so that, with the obligatory VAT added, it came out to a nice round number that perfectly matched the exact denomination of one of the bank notes in circulation.

I fished a 50-thousand rupiah note from my pocket and offered to the increasingly vexed "barrista".  He recoiled slightly, as if I had just held out a steaming pile of fresh horse shit to him.

"We cannot take cash," he said, acting as if a piece of plutonium were eating a hole in the palm of my hand.

"I'm sorry?"  It was my turn to be perplexed.

"It's unsanitary and we are not allowed to accept it," he explained, as if to a Martian just in from Tharsis Mons.  "We accept credit and debit cards," he offered helpfully.

"Aren't credit cards dirty too," I asked scientifically.  The blank stare told me logic and rationality weren't going very far here.  "Is there another way to pay?  I don't want to use a credit card for 50 thousand."

"You can use your Starbuck's card," he looked more relxed, as if dropping into a familiar script.  "The card is free!"

"Great, let me have one of those, then." 

He fished under the counter and presented me with a piece of plastic emblazoned with magical logo symbols and graphic designs, clearly indicating that it would remain sterile no matter how much I used it, or where I kept it when not in use.

"How do I top up the card?"

"Oh, we can do that right here," he seemed almost gleeful at being able to remain on script.

"Great, I'd like to put 50 thousand on it," I said.

"Sure!"  He inserted the card into some kind of magical device, entered the amount on a key pad, then took my 50-thousand note in exchange and handed the card to me.

I felt as if I had stumbled into a street theatre production of some obscure Kafka or Ionesco opus.

I handed the cared back to him and he dutifully deducted my purchase.  He handed the card back to me, with a second 30cm-long receipt (one for the top-up, one for the purchase), and graciously indicated the end of the counter, saying I could retrieve my coffee there.

I pocketed the plastic card and several trees' worth of printed paper, and slid along the counter to retreive my plastic cup of coffee with a plastic lid and a paper straw (to reduce plastic waste, of course).

I turned triumphantly to the interior to hunt down a sufficient supply of hermetically-sealed seating to accommodate my party.

My breast swelled with pride as I pondered the sheer volume of virtue I had signaled with that one transaction.  I was confident that when I stand before St. Greta at the Eco-Friendly Gates, I would have at least one Plenary Indulgence to trade for a Cosmic Carbon Credit.

Beaming with self-righteousness, I stabbed the paper straw at the opening on the plastic lid, and it crumpled like a sand castle in a rising tide.

I sighed and set the useless wad of paper aside, removed the single-use plastic lid, savoring the free-trade aroma of bean juice and thought, "Oh, what a good boy am I."

============================================

Want to support our efforts without a bunch of corporate "guidelines" in the way?  Drop some bits on us:

Bitcoin: bc1qth6drgzcyt7vlxxpvqh6erjm0lmaemwsvf0272
Etherium: 0xf1F04715704dbC5E2e96E047D4aBc22c611B6E86
Ripple: rMSQzLyE3RHacCLwYPADBbq4RHQ71HpCzw
Litecoin: LQeH2i9vMKMNx5WaLjAGaHWjtfhKL6yqCE