The three top subjects on this blog, not by number of posts but by visitor count, are Chinese New Year, dim sum, and underwear.
Kindly note that two of those subjects listed are clickable.
Not the third.
Much as I encourage my readers to wear undergarments, I do not provide instructions or a lesson plan. You'll have to figure that out on your own.
My views are quite minimal.
Yesterday evening, while on the weekly jaunt in the North East quadrant of the city, the bookseller and myself observed individuals whose underwear was clearly occupied by dysfunctional persons.
Sadly, many of them were probably unaware of that fact.
It may have had no relation to alcohol.
Not a temporary condition.
The number of dysfunctional people in this city seems more than it was years ago. There are always two or three of them at the bus stop where one catches the number one to Chinatown (where there are fewer), as well as individuals having psychotic episodes all over North Beach and Market Street. Underwear is only part of the problem, a minor issue.
The bookseller has accused me of having obsessions -- seal script, pipes, pipe tobacco, the Lumberjack Song from Monty Python, and also may have noted the frequent mentions of Hong Kong Milk Tea, or porkchops, or the sheer rotten offensiveness of rightwing cigar huffing yutzes -- but thankfully has not judged me underwear berserk.
It can be taken for granted that most booksellers in America, and almost all of my favourite authors, have had experience with underwear, and consider it a good and wholesome thing, whether they themselves wear it, or not. Inquiries have not been made, and there have not been national surveys. Their state of mind and psychological functionality do not enter into it.
I, personally, prefer baggy boxers.
And I am not dysfunctional.
Arguably sane.
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