BOOK BOOK BOOK, SHELF; DISCUSSIONS AFTER THREE
On Waverly an angry white person was having a loud argument with several invisible people. The young Chinese fellows smoking outside the bubble tea lounge ignored him, probably because they are used to white people acting out their fantasy lives.
I strove not to make any eye-contact with that gentleman as I passed by, because I did not feel I could contribute much to the conversation.
Several voices, but only one person talking. Screeching, actually. Nothing substantive would come from any involvement; that's something of which I am sure, though I concede that I may be biased and judgmental.
Methamphetamine and a heroin habit are presently cheaper than cigars or actual medical treatment. Therapy for angry white people.
It's the future of affordable care.
Later, at Candy's place, we tolerantly endured business-Caucasians singing karaoke till they left. Which gave me a brilliant (!) idea for an enterprise: a karaoke club with luxurious shower facilities installed all over and in the private rooms, so that everybody can sound better.
I should not have eaten the pistachios.
That's something I realize now.
Afterwards the bookseller was disturbed by a very large ax sitting on a vegetable rack at Stockton Street. We talked about potted plants while we walked past the construction-squat outside Ping Yuen, but I could tell his heart wasn't in it. An ax cannot sit, it has no bottomy parts.
It isn't a logical enphrasement, it is very wrong.
At Hyde Street he cut short my disquisition on cigars.
I later Facebook-hounded him the information.
Presumably he voided his bladder.
More next week.
"Alec Bradley; that's the cigar above the Rocky Patels and the Arturo Fuente. Padron is in the upper right, Julius Caesar and Aging Room just below that."
At this very moment I'm thinking about wearing a Venetian mask & a thong to a Christmas party. Not me, you. Or leastwise everybody in upper management.
Guarantee: the office will never be the same.
Make the Holidays surreal again.
I have never taken a woman along on a Jameson evening. It's strictly boys' night out, that's just the way it is. Serious things get discussed. Pistachios. Axes. Cans. Triplication of graphic elements as a way of creating a written character that expresses an abstraction. Gibbous (the moon not full, but past the half). Art. Napoleon Bonaparte (this is MY armpit). Cheese.
Free examples: 品 'pan', commodity (three items or mouths). 森 'sam', forest (three trees). 磊 'leui', great; a big pile of rocks (three stones). 聶 'nip', whisper (three ears). 舙 'waa', speech, talk (three tongues). 蟲 'chung', bugs (three creepy-crawlies).贔 'pai', strong (three cowrie shells). 轟 'gwang', a deep rumbling sound (three carts). 鑫 'yam', wealth (three golds). 驫 'piu', horses (three horses).
Remarkably, both of us are out of cheese.
This is panicking him inordinately.
I take cheese for granted.
Sequitorial to absolutely nothing, a random quote from AAPS:
"Barack Obama may have won the presidency by hypnotizing voters, especially cohorts known to be susceptible to “neurolinguistic programming” -- young people, educated people, and possibly Jews."
I very much like to think that young people and educated people are possibly Jews too. This would seem a good thing.
Today I may buy cheese. Or not.
I know he will.
Another example: 雥 'jaap', mixed, mingled, miscellaneous.
It is a variant of 雜 showing three short-tailed birds.
This is probably the best representation of the class.
It is nearly useless, but good to know.
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