Right about now, I am tired, dead tired. It's been awhile since I've gone out two nights in a row early in the week. This morning, I'm paying the price. Ian, a friend of mine, is visiting. He came for his sister's wedding and used the occasion to come down into the city. Monday night, we just hung out at Rope on Myrtle. Last night, we went to meet up with his friend Baba and a few others at the Indian Cafe. The food was excellent but the talk was even better.
I usually avoid getting into geo-political discussions with people because it tends to get emotional in all the wrong ways. Baba has no such qualms and jumps into that murky pool full-bore, yelling "Cannonball!" as he goes. Ian, having past experience, tried his best to stay on the sidelines but, worn down by gin and tonics, he finally couldn't help himself. My own views were closer to Baba's than to Ian's which made things a bit more interesting at the end when, as the restaurant closed around us, the heat went up a few notches.
The battleground was a rocky wasteland of colonialism, neo-colonialism, and the moral prerogative of nations. It was interesting, fun stuff to discuss that I don't get to do much. I loved it.
A wrinkle was provided from a Columbia U. history professor who happened to be at the bar and became a second front of battle: the professor, being British, and Baba, being Indian, made for an interesting back-and-forth. I enjoyed just listening to them fence with each other.
In the end, a good time was had by all. Not counting the chickens and other animals that died to make our feasting possible, the only casualties were our own (mis)conceptions. That, and my sleep, my precious, precious sleep. I need some coffee.
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