…Panic on the Streets of Birmingham; I wonder to myself, could life ever be sane again? Neither The Smiths nor British authorities, at least those not yet felled by the Murdoch wiretapping scandal, managed to hang the DJ, though investigations into the Tweets, Facebook Postings and Blackberry Messages which fomented and directed three nights of civil unrest are assuredly under way. It is without dispute that rioting escalated after the shooting death of a crack dealer by police; it’s no longer a mystery, then, that crackheads get a bit tetchy when their supply gets kinked.  The coppers, moreover, claimed they were initially fired upon by the victim, though forensics, predictably, have since shown the gun in question was never discharged.  Nonetheless, it is social media taking the preponderance of blame for the depth and scope of the insurrection. Personally, I remain ambivalent about the locus of culpability; it was (presumably) sentient beings that burned double decker buses and looted jewelry stores. On the other hand, my neighbor , according to foursquare, has just replaced me as mayor of my wife’s vagina.