Ngxola Boys At The Gates

When I was growing up in the township of Mlungisi in Queenstown we were terrorised by a gang of organised criminals called Ngxola (Noise) Boys. Just going to the shops was a scary thing and sometimes meant your death. People abhorred the Ngxola Boys but were helpless because they were unorganised. The apartheid government, naturally, did care anything happening in the townships so long it was not politically motivated. It came to an extent that people organised vigilante groups—I remember one called Inyosi (Bees) that finally broke the back of Ngxola Boys. But not before the township was thrown into tremendous turmoil, more like a civil war.

The thought of JZ (Jacob Zuma) becoming president, bringing his Ngxola Boys—Vavi, Mbalula and the rest—brought back that feeling and I shuddered to my soul. I’ve never hid from the fact that I’m adverse to Zuma’s presidency; I just think it’d be bad pro job for the country, but more to the point I don’t think his has sufficient suave to understand contemporary politics, especially intercontinental and international.

The popular currency of JZ is the weariness with Thabo Mbeki’s regime. Mbeki in most people’s minds has come to symbolise everything wrong with our country. Black people blame him for delayed economic freedom; that is for economic policies that favour big business (read white business). White people fear his independence of mind and blame him for abandoning the so called Mandela legacy (read maintaining the status quo of white affluence served by black servile class).

In my book Thabo Mbeki is the best president this country—hell this continent—has ever had, and yes I mean even better than Mandela who was mostly just a ceremonial snow haired daddy figure. I’m all for reconciliation, the so called Mandela’s legacy, but fuck it if it must be maintained but the servitude and sacrifices of only one race. The so called Mbeki intransigency and style of government has been his downfall, especially among the vox populi who see him as a distant enigma whose vision does not seem to take them into immediate consideration.

Of course the cynic echo of the gutter that fast racked Mbeki’s demise is the South African chattering class, from which he radically dissents. Mbeki is not intellectually or politically clubbable, something that’s very frustrating to the lazy lot of our chattering class. He does not fit any labels they echo. For instance, most of what is directed against Mbeki as the blight to his leadership is the South African government dithering at a point of Aids crisis. No one cares to point out that this failure started even during Mandela’s era; in actual sense Mandela was in a better position to show some real leadership concerning the issue but deferred it to the background. If anybody should take the brunt of this failure, without excusing Mbeki’s failures, is Mandela. It is unfortunate that our chattering class cloaks its frustrations and hate for Mbeki in this moralistic righteousness manner.

It has become fashionable in the chattering class circles to call Mbeki a tyrant, equating him to a budding Robert Mugabe. None are able to provide you with clear evidence of course of his tyranny except that he happens to have different opinions to their prevailing consensus which is not necessary that of the people on the ground. And lately, making strange birdfellows, they have been in collaboration with those whove been left out of the career wheel with the Tripartite Alliance.

Methinks if we need protection against the tyranny of the president we also need one against the tyranny of prevailing opinion of the chattering class and the empty howlings of careerists. We need a break from the chattering class’ tendency of imposing, by overt scribbling means, its own ideas and practices as rules of conduct. Our chattering class, especially the clowns at Johnnic Media, give off too much heat with paeans to sensationalism and thoughtless commentary. They want to fit our minds into their own agendas because they happen to have the weapons of publicity at their disposal. Most of their criticism of Mbeki is more of an empty teapot telling a kettle it’s out of steam.

If Mbeki is perceived as being not in touch with the general gestalt JZ, our Priapus, has fulfilled the role of a messiah with feet of clay, or should that be schlong (penis) of clay. JZ has come with the popular wave against Mbeki, not because of any discernable qualities, but because he happens to be seen as the victim of Mbeki’s vindictiveness since he was fired as a deputy president of the country. The irony is that with all its hate of Mbeki the chattering class has prepared a way for a candidate they fear more—not for originality and independence of mind, but for exactly opposite qualities; clumsiness, gullibility, and too much association with the left. They had been canvassing, to no avail, for the magnate Tokyo Sexwale, who would have been perfect as a teddy bear leader to be pampered with media flattering compliments into submitting to their vision of things. JZ instead comes with the burden of expectations on the ground, and will probably sing from the trade unionist tune to pay his dews.

The crux of the matter is that the people seem to have made their preference in a clear voice during the regional nominations of ANC. JZ is their preferred next president. Whether that will be endorsed at the coming ANC conference where the actual elections will be held between 15-20 December is now an ANC internal matter. As the fifteenth-century philosopher and Roman Catholic cardinal Nicholas of Cusa: “There is in the people a divine seed by virtue of their common birth and equal natural right of all men so that all authority — which comes from God as does man himself — is recognized as divine when it arises from the common consent of the subjects.”

The people’s voice is that of God, if that makes you shudder, perhaps it is time you re-examine your values. Personally I would have preferred Cyril Ramaphosa to be our next president, and Nkosazana Dlamani-Zuma as his deputy; but the people are speaking and I’m listening.

Pruim is Polokwane This Year

Watching the giddy excitement around the country on ANC (African National Congress) branch meetings preparing for the coming conference in Polokwane (5-20 December 2007) one is much reminded of the Jewish celebrations of Purim.

Pruim celebrates the bravery of a Jewish woman, Esther, who married King Xerxes, one of the great warrior kings of Persia the Bible named as Ahasuerus. King Xerxes’ Grand Vizier, Haman, plotted to kill all the Jews in Persia—a large flourishing community who were descendents of Jews seized and deported from Judea by king Nebuchadnezzar.

Haman was willing to pay cash to anyone who would come up with a way of killing Jews efficiently; and even casting lots to determine how to destroy all the Jews throughout Xerxes whole kingdom. Letters and stern decrees were sent throughout the provinces on Haman’s orders. The Jews were to be killed and their belongings taken as booty.

Haman’s last straw against the Jews came by the hand of a certain Mordecai, who happen to be Esther’s cousin also. Mordecai refused to bow down to Haman with reverence necessitating Haman to prepare special gallows where he would hang him. Mordecai obtained a copy of the decree against the Jews and sent it to Esther begging her to save her people and herself. To cut the story short, Esther prevailed in convincing the king to reverse the decree, and Haman was hung instead of Mordecai on the special gallows.

Since then the Jews have celebrated the day with much joviality and cussing of Haman’s name. For instance, whenever the name of Haman is read on the Scroll of Esther in Jewish congregation the children make loud noises with rattles and banging so that his name will not be heard above the din and be blotted out memory. Anyone who has been attending the ANC regional conferences lately would have noticed the same tendency when either the name of Mbeki or Zuma was mentioned; childish din to blot out and cuss the name out. The non-partisan, like Buridan’s starving ass, stand perfectly equidistant between two piles of hay, undecided, even sometimes disgusted, which way to turn.

Jewish friends during Pruim send themselves Hamantaschen (Haman’s ears)—delicious sweet-filled pastry with poppy seeds. The custom these days during the celebrations is much drinking, ‘joy and gladness’ to an extent that one no longer knows weather he is blessing Mordecai or cursing Haman (Naturally the rabbis do not approve of this excess). It is the same feeling you get on ANC meetings these days. People are so excited, so elated, you find it difficult whether they are blessing Zuma or cussing Mbeki. Of course things are much more serious than that, since it is—let’s cease these pretensions—no longer just about politics but careerism. If Thabo goes down he goes with a trail of his hanger-ons. That might spell a lot bank repossession of X5 (BMW).

Our kvetch media (political) commentary, not to be outdone, has joined the fray. They are glad to have some excitement to the usual dull straightforward ANC politics engineered backstage. They are having a field day striking and trying to chip the ANC rock, but the harder they struck the more it just emits sparks in no particular consistent direction. Hence with the help of survey after survey—those wonderful invention to answer ancient’s custom of studying bird’s entrails—they sleep with this and wake with that.

Personally I’ve come to the conclusion that it’d take years to understand what is happening within the ANC now. Hence I’m not surprised when conveyed commentary on the presidential race tends to be skewed, confused, and even contradictory. We are on uncharted grounds here with no authority of precedents. These elections are doubling up as another means to explore the concept of our nationhood that operates through the complex tensions of our past, like ethnic, regional, even racial identities.

We all know that both the Mbeki and Zuma camps have no different political identities. Their identities are predicated on the personalities and vested of their leaders, give or take fluid edges there and there. Even the tacit assumptions upon which both these leaders differ tend to be inchoate and vague. I sometimes suspect they themselves do not know. Theirs has now become just another Darwinian struggle. No body has who understand the feeling on the ground has ever doubted the popularity of Priapus, the minor Hellenistic deity with the major schlong who inspired laughter but was himself “not a happy god”. But if it ANC history tells us anything it is that the popularity of a leader is no guarantee of his being elected a president. Otherwise we would have had president Winnie Mandela at some stage of our political life.

The growing consensus within the higher echelons of the ANC is that both Zuma and Mbeki have failed the organization by standing on the coming presidential race. But it seems the voice that is adverse to a Zuma presidency than that against Mbeki’s third term is in the majority; so the game is not over yet. The ANC NEC (National Executive) has tremendous powers and influence. Be that as it may the organisation finds itself without an inclusive collective voice except the usual appeals to the historical structure of the organisation that favours Zuma.

Single-party systems reach their heights when, like in SA, their vision has been universally received. To maintain their popularity they must renew from the centre, or employ totalitarian softer tactics, like state-backed propaganda and, at worst, use coercive force. When a regime moves towards strict authoritarian models it is often a sign that it is loosing grip on society. Which stage the ANC is at seems to depend on one’s political persuasions, but I personally don’t think things are forlorn.

The truth of the matter is that no one can really predict what will happen in Polokwane. The only thing certain is that Zuma’s supporters are louder, and even vulgar sometimes, but that does not mean Zuma has secured the majority vote yet. Another thing is certain, the frumpy, eclectic, broadbandness of the ANC has reached another watershed point this year. Things will never be the same again within the party regardless of who holds the reigns. It’s settled assumptions have been tested and found wanting. It might be possible for the ANC to go back to the unifying effects of its structure, but it has certainly lost the collaborative strength between its members.

All democratic governments are in a learning curve, a perpetual state of maturity, by the virtue that they derive their mandate from the people. In democratic dispensations the voice of the people is the monarch. The ANC’s homogenising effect, better known as comrade effect, abuses the monarchy and encourages anachronism. It is what needs to go to make way for authentic political and economic policy parity or antipathy of its members. That is the only way the ANC will find a way of renew itself for the twenty first century without relying on past conditions all the time. There is no running away from the fact that our identity is conditioned by, and mediated through the past. But there comes a time when the past too must adapt or die.

Then again, as the Yiddish saying cautions: ‘A high temperature is not an illness and Pruim is not a festival!’ Unfortunately some people are not privy to that saying. As we speak people are involved in various forms of fitrah (the cleansing rituals, on top of all the manicurist obsession of cutting nails and armpit hair, trimming moustaches and clean shaving hair that have befallen comrades lately), and numerous visits to amaGqirha (witch-doctors) to cast or ward the spells. Bobby Zimmerman, alias, Bob Dylan, would probably describe this sheer giddiness of things with his song Desolation Row: They’re selling the postcards of the hanging / they’re painting passports brown / the beauty pallor is filled with sailors / the circus is in town . . .

As the din rises I’m reminded of another senile old man, Shakespeare’s Richard III. In Act 4, Scene 4, Richard has drums beaten to drown his mother’s curses: ‘A flourish, trumpets! Strike alarum, drums! Let not the hearers hear these tell-tale women Rail on the Lord’s anointed: Strike I say!’ I wonder if president Mbeki has re-read Richard III lately since the days he made the farewell speech, in high spirits, for Mandela?

The Bobobo Life

My friend and were seating chatting in of those Sunday afternoons when nothing seem interesting seem to happen. You kind of feel caught in between things, wanting to rest and finishing off the weekend. So instead of having a couple of beers you decide on watching, more like surfing, TV. And so that’s why you end up watching a National Geographic documentary on bobobos.

“I think I wanna be a bobobo in my next life.” Says my friend with an usual assumed determination. You watch the program t into the end. You talk and laugh it over. And then you decide to learn more about bobobos. With the help of some quick research on the internet you get more information.


Apparently, along with chimpanzees, bobobos are humans’ closest animal relatives, sharing more than 98 percent of our DNA. Yet they are completely different to their warlike cousins because bobobos live in matriarchal tribes.

“That not entirely good.” Says my slightly parochial friend.

“Listen to this,” I say interrupting him. “In bonobo society conflicts are settled by sex, and since the quarrel a lot they have lots and lots of sex. Surely if that does not make you wish for a woman next president that alone should persuade you.”

“Yes I saw that part on the program; they even have sex to greet one another, which I think is way, way cool.”

“They use sex to socialise, resolve conflicts . . .”

“Imagine all that make­up sex, and more of it sex as the current of negotiation. What I found most impressive is the variety of positions they have it on.”

“And they are not finicky about gender either. Partners can be male or female, of literally any age, and are often taken from within an individual’s immediate family as well as outside of it.”

“Okay, I’ll admit that’s creepy.”

“Within each tribe,” the information goes on, “even the lowest-status female is considered superior to the highest-status male. Older bobobo females keep younger females in check by snubbing them: walking away from a grooming attempt or refusing to share food.”

“Grown male bobobos cling to their mothers in order to attain status and protection.” “Listen to this, I think it is the kicker: Male bonobos live longer and are generally healthier than male chimps, since they aren’t required to fight for status and don’t live with the stress that chimps do.”

“That’s a clincher. I’m choosing to be a bobobo in my next life. The bastards have it made.”

South African Presidential Race

It is goes to the natural arrogance of every age to feel its era is the most important in history, but the 52nd ANC (African National Congress) from 15 to 20 December 2007 will probably go down in the history books of South Africa as a much anticipated political conference of all time. The next ANC (African National Congress) president, ipso facto, of the republic, will be elected there by the structures of the party.

By the time Nelson Mandela stepped down as the president of the republic Thabo Mbeki and his supporters had manoeuvred the internal structures of the ANC into making him the only candidate at the national conference that elected him. Constitutionally Mbeki now cannot stand for a third term as a South African president though he has recently been giving Caesar like indications that should ‘the party’ structures elect him to stand as the next president of the ANC he would accept the nominations as his duty. Most people fear the untenable situation of two seats of power should the president of the ANC be different to that of the republic. Or wourse a situation where Mbeki, as the president of the ANC, would become a puppet master of the next president of the republic.

I was glad when the ANC branch of Gaby Shapiro in Rondebosch, Cape Town (where I stay) elected Cyril Ramaphosa as its preferred candidate to be the next president of the ANC. The election was by an overwhelming vote against the likes of Mbeki, Jacob Zuma and Tokyo Sexwale. It’s a pity that our province, Western Cape—termed the Cape of political storms—seems not privy to the advantages of endorsing Ramaphosa’s nomination (the candidacy of Mbeki is ahead overall in the province).

It seems to me Cyril Rhamaphosa is the only non compromised candidate among the choices we presently have. He competently represented the ANC in the CODESA negotiations in Kempton Park that saw the establishment of a government of national unity, a precursor to a fully fledged South African non racial democratic government. He had the blessing of Nelson Mandela to be his successor until the ANC party stalwarts convinced Mandela otherwise. Ramaphosa has a long history with the trade union organizations, and just might be the one candidate to restore COSATU’s (Congress of South African Trade Unions) confidence on the Tripartite Alliance without alienating the so called Mbeki and Zuma factions. The majority of those, sometimes termed ‘inxiles’, who made for the general movement that fought apartheid from within the country known then as the UDF (United Democratic Front), would have their ayes behind Ramaphosa who also has deep roots in that movement.

With the credentials of a trade unionist, businessman and lawyer Ramaphosa would enjoy the confidence of business, the erudite class, and the lumpenproletariat (underclass). He just might be the only leader who can achieve the mammoth task of repulsing the reciprocity of suspicion between South Africans concerning the remerging beast of race and worrying class divide. He’s such an obvious candidate that only those with other vested interests object to his candidacy as the next president.

What’s the alternative?

The later-day overnight magnate, Tokyo Sexwale, is too much spin, pose, samizdat fanzines and feigning of cultivated taste with false humility. He has a worrying tendency of manufacturing and manipulating facts for show, plugging inculpating twigs as goes walk along; involving himself in this and all that as only characterless individuals would do. He’s too much of a drama queen; and of course the white liberal press love him. He’s married to a white woman, and his millionaire status assuages the upper middle-class fears and flatters their aspirations.


Sexwale shot to fame with his Mark Anthony grace after the then most popular politician after Nelson Mandela, Chris Hani, was murdered by Right wing hired guns for his communist beliefs. Sexwale was the first politicians to be caught on camera on the scene his track-suit dripping the blood of his comrade and all. He was then appointed to be the premier of South Africa richest and economic engine province, Gauteng. He refused to take the second term, opting to shedding his communists pelt by going to full time to business where he acquired enormous wealth at a lightning speed through some Black Economic Empowerment mining deals. Sexwale’s major error was trying to mint his own coins by independently declaring his availability for candidacy, through foreign press (BBC) nogal. The usual ANC practise is allowing the organic process of the ANC’s structures to nominate one starting at branch level. He has since been tangling and hanging himself by his own words and ambitions.

Jacob Zuma, the current ANC deputy president, blends balderdash with shoddiness; unites vacuousness to suspicious morality, and tends to accommodate his passions to historical prejudices. His recent loosing a High Court case against the National Prosecuting means he’s liable to be charged for corruption soon, which might make a terrible PR job for the country. But he is without a doubt the most popular candidate among the vox populi. His stalwarts, amongst whom is the ANCYL (African National Congress Youth League) and COSATU are unfazed in their support for his candidacy. The majority of Zuma’s supporters are the disgruntled lot who feel South African economic growth and fiscal has been largely at their expense for the benefit of the business class alone.

The ANC electoral process has a history of shunning popular candidates; but the dark cloud of the corruption case might make Jacob Zuma desperate enough to adopt Caesar Borgia’s motto: Aut Caesar aut nihil [Caesar or nothing] at which state all hell might break loose. He has the support of the people behind him even if scoffed by the general middle-class aspired and usually conservative with subtle right wing tendencies.

Jacob Zuma has laid hold of the popular disquiet and discontent of ordinary South Africans who, are now starting to show serious signs of being tired of making sacrifices to perpetual illusions of economic panacea, have very little to lose. People on the ground have started to disdain submission in the name of unfulfilled promises. What the next presidential elections will clearly reveal is reconciliation and ruin faces of the same coin; and how the failure of the other inspire the success of the other where the dream has been deferred.


President Mbeki, no matter how competent, has been on the helm for too long. It’s time he made way fro some new blood, new ideas and all. Besides there’s been too much meed of clucking and cackling involving his name, like the so called Aids denialism and Arms Deal scandal. The green flies [rumour] has it his office is proposing the alternative idea of making Joe Netshitenzhe, the current government strategist, the next president of the republic. Netshitenzhe is on the high circles of Mbeki advisers and thus will probably present a seamless transition from his government.

Be that as it may, I personally feel it is time for new blood and fresh ideas. Ramaphosa has consular dignity needed for the first citizen of a country. Coming from the meretricious argumentation and paradox-mongering of our outgoing president, Ramaphosa’s lawyerly chaste brevity might be the breath of fresh air we need. But it looks like the only chance he has now is a highly unlikely 25% backing in the next ANC conference at Plokwane in December; or if the Mbeki and Zuma faction should reach a stalemate.

I’m of the opinion that the master chess player, Thabo Mbeki, has done it again. It’ll be a miracle if anyone except himself comes out victorious from the Polokwane ANC Conference. The only real question now is who’ll be his deputy who surely will be the next president of the republic and most likely a pawn in the hands of our master player. Looks like whichever way you look at it, South African politics shall be defined according to Mbeki for a foreseeable future.

What South Africa needs from its next leader is someone who would be able to build a conducive and enabling atmosphere for business to thrive, while giving support to the general populace to gain economic participation, and regain its civic conscience and cultural patrimony that was destroyed by decades of racial and colonial oppression.

There is, especially in the township—a social ticking bomb—instances of unrest rising exponentially. This obviously suggests a rising tide of discontent. If this anger is not well managed it will degenerate to the clumsy pyrotechnics of Zimbabwe-like situation. The next leader would be well advised to take seriously this fire of restlessness. Thomas Paine was of the opinion that; “Whatever the apparent cause of any riots maybe, the real one is always want of happiness. It shews that something is wrong in the system of government, that injures the felicity by which society is to be preserved.” It is easy to lament or condemn the clumsy aggression of a populist regime, like that of Robert Mugabe, but much harder to accept that it usually emerge as result of political and economic decomposition that left millions to survive without support. Neglected and polarised people tend to give their alliance to promises of instant remedies of populist movements.

What South Africa needs is what Thomas Paine called a revolution in the state of civilization. “A revolution in the state of civilization, is the necessary companion of revolution in the system of government. If a revolution in any country be from bad to good, or from good to bad, the state of what is called civilization in that country, must be made conformable thereto, to give that revolution effects.”

Rant The Beloved Country

Remember that ditty circulating in the internet round about the time the U.S.A. attacked Iraq: If you cannot find Osama, / Bomb Iraq. / If the market's hurt your Momma, / Bomb Iraq. / If the terrorists are Saudi, / And they’ve repossessed your Audi, / And you're feeling kinda rowdy, / Bomb Iraq!

Wide spread loss of trust in public authority is chic in our era. In South Africa we go further by making the government a repository of all our dissatisfactions. Lucky for us we’ve the tyranny of opinion polls—the modern day answer to ancient practise of reading the animals entrails for guidance—leaping about in response to every latest headline or cock-up to back our illusions. And so it goes:

The news is yo-yoing your opinions as the corollary to the loss of anchorage you feel deep within making you feel kind of fanciful and abstract. You are not in the mood of confronting your illusions? Why not undermine the government in cross-stitched logic and vague quatrains of Nastradamus. Call it the crime thing.

You feel a little exhaustion from your imperialist hangover and nostalgia, and are walking around tired of being a nonentity why not manufacture your popularity from the flattering delusions your barmates give you when you are ‘out to lunch’. Better still; you’ve been having bad dreams lately of apocalypse and deeper misgiving of Cassandra fantasies that we’re tilting to wards Zimbabwe like situation. Rant! Rant, my epicurean fad; there are government’s inefficiencies all over, only the business class is perfect (and of course they promote you). Rant! The barbarians are at the gates.

You support political leaders not on principles but on shallow fancy of whether Hugo Boss shirts are in, or Armani? Base your support not on any deeply held belief or commitment, but on the fact that you wanna get on the Gravy Train. Bring on the rip-roaring umshini wam Zulu boy to fan factionalism and scar liberals out of their wits.

You are irritated by party politics and desperate for life style politics that judge your leaders by personality rather than political factors? The leader does not have a Cheshire cat smile, and is an unapologetic dweeb who walks like he’s wearing sock garters. All this flames you but can’t really nail his fault except he looks down and expose your sophisticated ignorance? Scandalise and ostracise him. Everyone is distancing themselves from their past to be pc while dwelling on its weeds in their hearts of hearts; why can’t he just go with the flow and let sleeping dogs lie?

If your moral campus is spinning out of control and you are not sure why; blame it on the government. If your partner is living you, and your first born is doing drugs. The government is surely to blame.

If you kind of feel like some publicity-generating eccentric with a tinpot flare. Pluck a crisis from thin air, and like a Pharaoh getting his authority from Ra, suck your thumb and implicate the government on your delusions. If they deny it proof enough they’ve done it. Besides, who cares, you got publicity spin-offs. You need to demonstrate to occidental masters that Africa has an independent free non subordinate press.

If you are feeling a little relative morally; feel like crapping on some pities because you are annoyed that the fundamentalist do not respect or give a f#*% about your Switzerland position—but are shit scared to offend them lest they are hiding Osima or an Inquisitor on their backyard—transfer it to the government. Those ignorant former terrorists are safer target for your blunt fictions.

You kind of feel dissatisfied with economic growth, and feel, as Clive Hamilton writes in his book, The Growth Fetish, “restless dissatisfaction, chronic stress and private despair, feelings that give rise to a rash of psychological disorders” of anxiety, depression, substance abuse that makes you “engage in a range of behaviours aimed at compensating for or covering up these feelings.” It’s definitely the government’s fault. Shout out! Get some attention. ‘Me! Me! Me!’

Who’s your Tata now? Madiba! Help, we’re sinking!

Feeling déclassé; can’t afford brands that define the fetishism of your imagined trendy self style. You discover pen marks on the surface of your expensive handbag, or too much accumulated lint at its bottom? The government is polluting your world. The made is late? This government of fishes and loaves is giving her ideas that are making her too big for her boots. You diss and dish without creative drive; it’s not that you’ve confined your ambition to the consumerist’s mentality; no it’s the government that’s clipping your wings.

In the end what is all this noise but “a tale / Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, / Signifying nothing” feeling intoxicated by freedom and the yo-yoing of moods, grateful to the times, and the government, for allowing freedom to run amok. “Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks!” Wisdom here is not the purchase of the day.