THE PORKCHOP AT THE END OF THE JOURNEY

Got home late after an hour and fifteen minutes of fairly horrible karaoke. Which makes me think that white folks shouldn't sing. Except, perhaps, in the shower. But not if they are drunk. Every damned song you like will get ruined by intoxicated Caucasians, that is all there is too that.

Keep them out of the shower.

One of them kept considerately asking us whether we preferred this performer or that, or had objections to whichever band of which he was thinking. Outside, during a smoke break, he confided that he was of Irish ancestry (though California born), so I should have faith.


I'm sorry, dude, my faith, if there is any left, goes in the opposite direction. White people singing karaoke convinces me that there is no god.
It will take me several days to get over that.

'Country Roads'? Nein danke.
'Black and Tans' instead.



On the other hand, Taai Go (大哥) and Siu Fei Lou (小肥佬) playing liars dice together goes a long way towards restoring one's faith in humanity. What baffles me is their frequent usage of the English word "noodle".
Perhaps it's gangster slang for 'face'.



The taxi driver on the way home and I spoke of Hong Kong movies. We both fondly remember Cherie Chung (鍾楚紅), who was stellar in several late eighties early nineties films. When a gentle woman is required by her role to look fierce, the result is extremely appealing, heart-melting.
There is an extraordinary vulnerability there.

Taai Go and Siu Fei Lou are dubiously employed; "Older Brother" or "Little Fat Dude" are nicknames. They are both very likeable gentlemen, as is the "most dangerous man in Chinatown", who wasn't there tonight.


I have no idea how to appell any of the young white karaoke mavens.
Perhaps "Misguided Person A through F". Or "Crazy Dingo".
A through F.



The best way to finish the night, at three thirty in the morning, is with a hot glass of coffee with dry ginger and panax notoginseng powder mixed in. And a pipe filled with Old Gowrie (a fine tobacco product from Rattrays) out on the front steps. The "pipe for watching rats in Spofford Alley" was already smoked earlier, this briar is the pipe associated primarily with porkchops enjoyed at either of two eateries on Pacific at Beckett.

Which largely fuelled or inspired the account of "Eight Legs Cafe", written three years ago. Always smoked with Virginias.
I'll go there again soon.

Porkchops.




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