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Maybe if I compose a blog entry before I go work in the woods I can make more sense, but I sorta doubt it. I've been accused of not making much sense in the best of situations as well as the worst, so I guess it really doesn't matter at all when or even if I write. It's a real good then, then, that I do it for-me.
If I had any sense I'd be alarmed that this summer's record-setting heat wave acts acts as proof positive that global warming is progressing along quite nicely. Nicely? It's progressing. That's all I need to know, but it's not a phenomena that fills my heart with overflowing love for God, the truth, and the American way.
America doesn't seem to have "a way" anymore, and maybe it never did. What I'm observing is that since Obama got elected I'm seeing lots of different races that emigrated from lots of different cultures are showing up acting important on TV now. It seems like black American actually can speak English the rest of the world can understand if they got a good enough reason to try.
That's a big deal and an indication of huge progress in the United States of America. I didn't understand this until I found myself telling a local Indian friend about what I thought his previously mentioned problem was. He has really developed as an entrepreneur, but he said that he still felt some discrimination from other entrepreneurs of different racial and ethnic backgrounds. "I hope my die he did."
"I hope my die he did." is a phrase only the Coharie and Lumber River Indians use. Well, maybe not "only". These local Indians use their own lingo as a form of tribal identity. They don't remember any of their original Indian language, so what they speak both to the world and to each other is a variation of English that identifies them to each other in the world outside or away from the coastal plains of North and South Carolina.
My friend confronted me instantly. What right have I to discriminate against him for the way he uses English? I tried to explain myself. I must have done pretty good, because once I pointed out that when the Latinos he rents trailers to talk among themselves in Spanish, and he speaks minimal Spanish, how can he know or not whether what they're saying in Spanish is a plot to murder him?
He slumped his shoulders with his elbows an his knees, and laid his face in his hands in total submission to his new understanding. "You're right. I try to treat them fairly, but sometimes I do think they're plotting against me." The word on the street is that the Latinos love him because he's honest and fair.
The fact that people speaking in a foreign tongue makes most people suspicious the speakers might be platting against them is an old, old story. But, it can be particularly damaging if their conversation is about money and profit, and making a deal with a mere handshake as he does.
That's why I suggested to my Indian friend that he stop using the language that identifies him as an Indian to other Indians when he's conducting business with businessmen of various races or from different cultures. Especially "damn Yankees" that move here from up North. '-)
It's possible for his prospective business partners to think he's trying to hide something by the way he talks about the deal they're engaged in making. In his mind he thinks he's just showing pride in being an Indian, but if their reason for coming together is not for planning a monthly PowWow, such pride could be missing the point.
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I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
