This blogger unhappily admits to personal flaws. No, shan't detail them, because you might start noticing, and it would become an obsession that would gradually eat away at your esteem for me.
Sadly, I am not as perfect as I dearly hope you think I am.
But one flaw I do not have is a brutal tongue.
I am an exemplar of passive aggressive discretion.
That's one of the reasons I blog.
"It was one of those things where you think Chinese people are the most insensitive shits you've ever seen."
Sometimes I agree with the person who said that.
There are times when that opinion is valid.
As are many of her other opinions.
But no matter how insensitive Chinese people -- especially snooty Chinese Americans -- can be, they don't hold a candle to perfectly average prosperous Caucasians smoking cigars. Such as the very dear people I see several times a week when I babysit the entitled classes of Marin County.
Who are on the whole rather self-satisfied, cocksure, and iggerunt.
They gave me hell about my Hello Kitty pursy, the insensitive clods.
Look, if I were a woman, between fifteen and let us say forty, with a Hello Kitty mini-backpack, there might be reason to doubt my sanity. Women with a Hello Kitty fetish are pulling a little girlie attitude, and may be quite silly. Probably unbearably so.
Little girls with a Hello Kitty bag, or anything Hello Kitty, are normal, and often entirely unaware of the possible ickiness of the item.
Little boys with Hello Kitty have issues.
But a lean middle-aged man with a pink and black Hello Kitty mini-backpack is the veritable glorious paradigm of self-assured manliness. You do NOT diss him. Not if you want peace and quiet everlasting.
The Chinese person that Savage Kitten (my apartment mate) referred to was "a short frog-like person" whom she worked with years ago. One of those snotty types who did everything better, owned everything better, knew everything better, and and regularly pissed on everyone else's joys, because she was a better taste higher class person.
The kind of person, in other words, who knows the best brandnames, but not one iota of actual quality. Like the people who demand Remy Martin, truck around Louis Vuitton, and spew the words Davidoff, Dunhill, Prada, and Hermes, with a smug proprietary air.
But begrudge the waiters at a restaurant a decent tip.
People like that always do everything better.
They also own things that are better.
And they ARE much better.
I myself don't know very many of that type, what with being white and rather oblivious to some immigrants' ridiculous pretensions. But my apartment mate, being a locally-born person of sterling Chinese ancestry, seems particularly aware of them.
She's thin-skinned about snooty types.
And is better than she realizes.
Far, far better.
I dare not ever introduce her to the Marin cigar-smokers; she'd rip their insensitive guts out. Or bash them about the head.
With MY backpack.
She doesn't like dipwads either.
Or Hello Kitty.
Please note that I do not always carry my Hello Kitty 'pursy. It's useful for when I head over to Marin four days a week, because it is the perfect size for half-a-dozen briar pipes, a supply of pipe-tobacco, tampers and other tools, plus pipe-cleaners and matches. On the days when I'm off, I leave it at home, because I do NOT want single women to assume that I'm a grandpa and have a little urchin I pick up from school everyday because her mommy works.
There was the time I spoke to four very nice young ladies from the Mandarin-speaking part of the world, who wanted a recommendation for a good Cantonese restaurant. Even when I showed them the box of cigars I was delivering to the Oxxy, they remained unconvinced that I was a bachelor. Because, of course, the box of Padron 1926 Series 80th Anniversary Maduro Torpedos was IN the Hello Kitty backpack. Sadly, that may have nixed my chances of further conversation.
Whenever I'm wandering around San Francisco with pipe and tobacco, there is no need for a full-day's worth of smoking supplies. One or two briars in the same pocket as the pouch of broken flake is perfect.
AN ANATHEMATIC AFTER-THOUGHT
More than anything else, the following is perverse:
Hello Kitty® Day
Back by popular demand, the Giants are proud to welcome you to AT&T Park to join them in celebrating Hello Kitty Day! On this particular day, various pre-game and in-game components will be themed around the global pop icon Hello Kitty, providing a family-fun atmosphere that Giants and Sanrio fans of all ages can enjoy! Your Special Event ticket package includes a ticket to the Sunday game versus the Rockies and a collector's-edition "World Champion" Hello Kitty/Giants-themed Gnome, only available with the purchase of this Special Event ticket! Please stay tuned to sfgiants.com/specialevents, as additional details will be announced closer to the date.
[SOURCE: http://sanfrancisco.giants.mlb.com/sf/ticketing/group_special_events.jsp#hellokitty .]
No, I shan't be there. The idea of surrounding myself with teenage girls of all ages and several genders united by their squealing love for a fictitious feline is a little bit daunting.
Please forgive my lack of enthusiasm.
Sports are stupid.
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All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
Labels: Hello Kitty, THE WALL (CIGAR SMOKERS)