The woman whose friend had died -- a fact which she wished to impress upon me repeatedly -- was easily distracted by blinky things. Which was good; she projected wounded rabid groundhog from the first moment she attempted to engage me in conversation while I was smoking outside Vesuvios, and rather than responding meaningfully I wandered off.
We ran into her again at the Chinese place.
Three more times.
She drifted in and out. I can jabber in Cantonese and Mandarin, so obviously as a foreigner and not speaking English, I can't be a suitable conversational victim. I told the bookseller to speak in German with an Italian or Russian accent to discourage her if she came too close.
She was waiting for fresh meat when we left.
When Michael unlocked the door to let us out, he told her in Cantonese to kindly piss off, although given that she understood not one word he was probably far too polite in his term of address.
Part of that is the need to compartmentalize people.
Kwailo sinsaang (鬼佬先生), so po (傻婆).
Mr. Ghost-devil, batshit auntie.
The karaoke stopped half an hour or more before we left, which was good, because there is only so much drunken singing by young white types one can take. Michael Jackson palls, Abba is insufferable, and anything emotional becomes painful to the ears.
Earlier, mention of chicken spleens reminded me of the Spongmonkeys.
They're rather good.
MOON!
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I9MZNEXrElw.]
PO ... TAY, TOE!
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vPT-C2ukAaU.]
TASTY, CRUNCHY!
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZuPTZWhz46M.]
That's classic entertainment right there!
Not karaoke, AND they are toasted!
They even have a pepper bar!
Nearly everyone I know deviates from the norm. If I don't know you, you could be more strangely askew than I can deal with. So my sympathy for the fact that your friend passed away might not be quite optimal.
And those panda pajama pants worry me.
The chicken spleens were on a Chinese menu.
脾 ('pei') means spleen, pancreas.
雞脾 ('gaai pei') doesn't.
Chicken thigh.
髀
The caption of this essay is what I heard on the bus, said by a gentleman significantly older than myself. It's an existentialist battle cry.
I shall adopt it as my own.
To confound the bookseller, I can attest that chicken spleen does exist.
Quote: "The chicken has no lymph nodes, and so the spleen is its main peripheral lymphoid organ. The principal role in antibody production is therefore attributed to the spleen, although the immune responsiveness of diffuse organ-associated lymphoid tissue cannot be neglected."
[SOURCE: Antigen Capture in Chicken Spleen ..... ]
Spleen crumbles like black pudding when eaten.
Italians particularly appreciate it.
Pork spleen is excellent.
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