IT STINKS LIKE A NICARAGUAN JUNGLE

While I can imagine a woman enjoying the same things I do, there is scant evidence that such a person actually exists. Perhaps this says more about my imagination than my grasp of reality and normal human behaviour.

For instance: Heading out for lunch or a snack, then wandering around Chinatown and Northbeach smoking a pipe, people watching and buying groceries. Generally, wasting time outside because smoking indoors in the afternoon leaves scant time for my quarters to air out before evening.

Tomato porkchop and rice, with soup and a hot beverage? Baked mild curry chicken and potatoes over rice? Fatty meat with a little salted vegetable?

I think we're describing a working man's food here.
Or a mature Dutch American bachelor.


Not the preferences of a woman.


The pipe, of course, is right out. Apparently civilized females do not truck with briars, although they may indulge occasionally in a cigar. But pipes, in this age and social environment, are considered fussy and un-ladylike.
Very few women wish to be thought neurotic or Gandalfian.

One woman I know has recently started experimenting with a pipe, but she already was a cigar smoker, and it is quite likely she will revert to that in a few weeks or months. The mid-fifties ring gauge Havana was always her first love.


Women's tastes differ. You already knew that. In the same way that you probably fantasize about a helpmeet who eats pizza and cheers on the game every weekend -- no matter how bloody boring that might be for anybody rational -- I will imagine a female person with glasses who likes digging into a juicy chop over rice by herself, prefers dark bold smells over car freshener, and fights the urge to swear whenever the phone rings.


If she exists, all of her female relatives probably think she's peculiar.
Lord knows, my female relatives think I'm peculiar.
Though for a man, that's "normal".
Not "normal" normal ...
But, you know.



AN OCCASIONAL 'BREAKFAST' CIGAR

There's a bit of a smell in the apartment at present (it stinks). I've got a cigar going, and I am on my second cup of strong coffee. I got up late, having been on the internet till after four in the morning watching videos of small fierce wild animals. Rambunctious weasels and the like.

After shaving and a shower I shall head out and find something good to eat.
No, I don't know where. I already had porkchops earlier this week, as well as milk tea at the place where the ladies who work there are friendly but not too pushy. As well as flaky pastries at the other place. It might just be black bean bitter melon and fish over rice, even though the woman who works at that restaurant during the day is a bit casual and slapdash.

It's near that alleyway that the city has been improving for well over a year. Honestly, how much time does it take to upgrade the sewers and lay down new cement? We don't care about the fancy bamboo and murals, that pretty-pretty crap is strictly for the tourists. You've torn it up too long.
Pave it already and be done, dammit.

Either that, or the cheap lunch counter on Stockton.
Fatty pork and salted vegetable in gravy.
Two other dishes for balance.
And small soup.

It's a set price; three dishes and a bowl.
Rice, and your choice of overs.
One scoop each.


Ho sik.



NOTE: Yes, I always compare my proclivities with those of a woman.
It provides much needed perspective. A kick in the face by reality.
Everybody needs that.




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