OVERFLOWING WITH GOODNESS, KARMIC DOLPHINS

There is a minute chance I may have overdone the hot sauce yesterday.
Dinner, at a place which will close its doors in two days after twenty seven years, was curry seafood fried rice (咖哩海鮮炒飯 'gaa lei hoi sin chaau faan'). Heat with fish is traditional. A man has got to have sambal.

Late last night I woke up from a dream involving a forest fire in an upland valley I have never visited, and got to thinking about excess. Despite my spartan habits and restrained character, this is something I know.

I still remember the morning I smoked a Liga Privada cigar on an empty stomach. I never have breakfast; that day I almost didn't get to lunch.
I blame a sales-rep handing out freebies.

There's also the time I enjoyed ten pipe-fulls in one day. Had a major nicotine hangover the next.

And there have been adventures with ice-cream.


Of course the poster-child of excess has to be Lamar Odom, who jacked himself with excessive quantities of cocaine and viagra during a break from his fright-bitch Kardasian wife while in Vegas a year and a half ago, then collapsed after oil-wrestling and vibrator sports. Truly a star of the field.
Normal folks cannot equal that grand performance.
Celebrity drug use is in a class by itself.
Kudos, dingbat, kudos.


A common belief holds that chilies are good for the male libido. That's not something I have ever noticed, but unlike Lamar Odom I never push my libido to ridiculous levels, and have not needed to take viagra.

I should mention that as a single man, and smelly because of tobacco to boot, this hasn't been an issue in the past few years. Women of refinement and good taste seldom (never) date people like me, and they are all married in any case. Nor have I pursued fruitful acquaintance with anyone of the female gender, as I suspect they would want to clean me up, change all my habits, introduce me to the family, keep me from eating gluten and meat, and turn me into a quiet lacto-vegetarian or church-going Christian.


Honestly, can you see me becoming a gluten-phobe?
Or even a Christian, god forbid?


My stomach hurts.
Too much chili.




Good stuff: Gluten, meat, seafood, Sriracha, milk tea, strong coffee, flue-cured tobacco, Perique, Latakia, Djubec, ripe chilies, noodles, fried rice, lumpia, eclairs, po lo bau, roast duck, down-filled comforters, long hot baths, crisp newspapers, the smell of pencil shavings, fountain pen ink, slagging Christians, talking smack about Texans and Republicans, smelling freshly mown grass or blooming anise along the freeway, contemplating sex, imaging conversations with a teddy bear (the Froad and the raccoon not so much), Lapsang Souchong tea on a rainy afternoon (we almost never have those in California), raw herring (very hard to find here), deep fried things, Kurt Weill, and my rickety old rattan chair (no, I do not need a new one, stop threatening to throw it out). As well as intelligent women.

Barbecued meats, crusty breads, garlic noodles.
Vaccination, gmos, chem trails.
Oysters Rockefeller.
Pizza.


And making fun of Gwyneth Paltrow's vagina.
Jade yoni eggs, pudendal steaming.
Pelvic floor excercises.

"The vulva, vagina, cervix, and uterus are not intuition repositories and neither are they sources of “power” or “wisdom.”"

 --- Dr. Jen Gunter

Sorry, I got totally sidetracked. The single man with too much chili pepper in his system does that occasionally.


I hug imaginary trees.



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