At the back of the hill

Warning: May contain traces of soy, wheat, lecithin and tree nuts. That you are here
strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton.
And that you might like cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Thursday, April 12, 2018


At four in the morning I am pleased to see stability in the world, but that may be merely my own echo-chamber. Seeing as I have largely insulated myself from the complete idiot crowd over the years by banning, blocking, or unfriending myself from Trumpites, Bernieites, and religious nuts on social media. Along with restrictive diet-types and Amway sellers.
And several of them have done the same.

Think of it as a co-operative venture.

That leaves mostly sane folks.

The readers of this blogspot, however, are a different story. Most of them do not leave comments, but the articles which they read here are in some ways illustrative. One constant over the years has been the essay about the naming-differences in women's underpants, which seems to have been read pretty much every day since I wrote it on a whim eight years ago.

Perhaps all of them live in parts of the world where women's underpants are unavailable. Eastern Europe and Pakistan, most likely.

[There's a lingerie shop on Polk Street one or two blocks north of Broadway which I have not passed in years. I expect women still wear underwear, and one day when the weather is nice perhaps I might have a cup of coffee at a place in the same block. On Clay Street between Grant and Kearny facing Portsmouth Square in Chinatown is a boutique with similar items; I believe there were some pale purple things in their window recently. And of course there is Victoria's Secret, in the Union Square area. No idea where. They've moved several times.]

I myself have little interest in women's underpants, and have not been involved with anyone who might wear such things for several years. Which is regrettable. But on their own, such garments cannot excite much interest. And really, they follow a predictable pattern. There are, usually, three holes. Not four, because that is too many. Not two, assuredly not five.
Insert a Monty Python reference here.

[This post.]

The other essay which always shows up as being popular when I look at my blog stats is the one explaining the Cantonese term for a randy man (ham sap lo) which was penned during breakfast on April 27, 2011.
The term is colourful, evocative, and opprobrious.
I am hard put to find a favourable usage.

[This post.]

It is now shortly after five. I shall go to bed again for a few brief hours of sleep. With my luck, I'll probably dream of underwear.

I mostly think of cheese.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.


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