AN INTERVAL BETWEEN PORK CHOPS

Events of the past week indicate that the country is going slightly insane under lockdown, shelters-in-place, and social distancing. Like dogs, we need to sniff each other in order to put things into perspective. For those of us who are naturally less social it isn't such a strain, but we worry about the rest of you. To put it frankly, you folks are nuts.

Personally, I'm perfectly fine not seeing people most of the time. They interrupt my thought processes, and interfere when I do my interpretive dances in my pretty pink elephant costume; with wings and ruffles.
It's so lovely!


Most of the day I spend reading (no text messages). Whenever I'm at the table in the teevee room where our computers are, I occasionally look up to observe the mess -- not being a good housekeeper, as well as a pack rat, there is that -- or I wonder why, if the apartment above me is still unoccupied, do I hear noises upstairs? But I'm enjoying the quiet time. Other than that helicopter which circled my neighborhood last night, or the sounds of construction from over near Van Ness Avenue.

When I'm ouside smoking my pipe I find myself obsessively counting. One empty parking spot, two empty parking spots, maskless cretin ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen (ninth younger white dude, tenth younger white dude, fourth Karen, fifth Karen), oh look, there's a poodle .....

The mind isn't empty, it holds several trains of thought at once.


The pipe pictured above is another one of the old briars associated with Chinatown, particularly Beckett Alley between Pacific Avenue and Jackson Street, after a pastry and milk tea at the New Hollywood (荷里活茶餐廳), or pork chop and rice at the Regent (新麗晶西餐廳).

[New Hollywood Bakery and Restaurant: 652 Pacific Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94133. 415-397-9919. The New Regent Café: 638 Pacific Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94133. 415-392-6688.]

Years ago I lived two blocks away from both of those places. At this point I do not know when I'll be able to go again. Will they recognize me after such a long time? Will they even be able to reopen?
Good food, good people.


Chinatown has always been my part of San Francisco. No one has ever made fun of my accent, or asked me in an accusatory way where I'm from (and why don't I go back), and the worst thing that's ever happened is that one person had an obvious panic attack when I spoke Cantonese, because white people just aren't supposed to do that. Normally, as a white dude with speaking, reading, and writing capability, I get pretty decent treatment.
Literacy is held in fairly low regard in white America.
Well, other than texting.

When we lived in Europe I learned how to read and write English on my own; we had more books in English than in Dutch or German. Reading and writing Chinese (however badly) happened because I began to collect dictionaries, and I've always hated not having answers.
It's an ongoing process.


In the past year, a few of the words I have learned are 高血壓 ('kou huet ngaat'; high blood pressure), 糖尿病 ('tong niu peng'; diabetes), and 冠狀病毒病 ('kun jong peng duk'; corona virus).

[What I have; what I might end up with if I'm not careful; and what younger white dudes and Karens are trying to give me by not wearing their masks on the public street.]


Oh, and also 急性闌尾炎 ('kap sing laan mei yim'; acute appendicitis. Which happened last summer. The Chinese Hospital (東華醫院 'tung waa yi yuen') had me on the table before six in the morning, took care of the problem and saved my life, and sent me home five days later with three different antibiotics and orders not to lift anything for two months.

Didn't smoke a pipe for over a week.
I had no inclination to do so.

There IS a lovely alleyway opposite the hospital, though, and I keep having dreams of smoking my pipe there in a hospital robe while hooked up to an I.V. and a monitor. I hope that isn't prescient in any way.
I'd hate for Brad and Becky to infect me.

TOBACCO INDEX


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