Another fine day, in which to indoctrinate the young in transgenderism, satan worship, and witch craft. Early dawn in San Francisco. First twirl around the block this morning saw a jogger wearing shorts and a tee-shirt (it's only fifty degrees Fahrenheit) and a dog walker bagging Fluffy's pooh. And I note that the lazy eyed gentleman across the street seems to have driven off already, as well as the Irishman with the work truck on my side.
Seeing as they are probably not religious, I don't think they're getting chores done before church. The church nearby must be thrilled by the prospect of the Buddhist temple being torn down next year, by the way. Over the years I've gotten the impression that they intensely dislike their "heathen" neighbors, and just wish those people would go away.
Which is basically the religious approach to almost anything. Why can't "those" people just go away? As well as the fundamental rightwing attitude.
All of us "other" should just go away.
Sorry, that's not our intent.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
THEIR NATURAL HABITAT
There are more dogs in this neighborhood than children. One very rarely sees people walking their children outside when one is, hypothetical...
2 comments:
I owe you an apology. Hitherto, as they say, when reading of your feeling the effects of a cup or two of milk tea, I somewhat rolled my eyes. I can't say that I questioned your manhood, but....hmmm. At the least, I marvelled at my retaining my vigour when you had obviously lost yours, despite our being of the same generation. Servings of espresso, pots of stout English tea, cups of strong, black coffee...these are the unnoticed companions of my day.
Today, to accompany a ham and egg bun, small piece of fried taro cake (still hot!), and tiny sticky rice and peanut ball, I had my first milk tea.
Good grief, man! As served to me, it makes East Frisian tea -extra rock sugar please!- seem like tepid, dirty dishwater. As I strolled along the street after,I was very much aware of my heart beating. I felt almost giddy.
I will never again say no to a milk tea. From now on, when you speak of feeling the effects of the beverage, I will nod in understanding. What the heck kind of tea is it? Or is it different due to the brewing method?
To complete my attempt at emulating, if not you, your behaviour, my after-collation pipe was some GH DVC -Dark Virginia Cavendish- in a Falcon pipe fitted with a bantam bulldog bowl.
It's noted that you never speak of The Falcon. I forgive you.
Different due to the brewing method. Basically a blend of black teas, boiled for a couple of minutes, then poured through a large bag like strainer (often several times), with sweetened condensed milk added (either before or after straining). Extra caffeine, extra tannins.
Properly done, you'll by ready to go up twenty stories of bamboo scaffolding again for six or eight hours of construction work in a typhoon again after two cups.
Badly done, it's an insipid milky beverage.
Note that the Indians and Pakistanis have something similarly bracing, masala chai, which is often served strong and piping hot. Four or five of those while working as a cashier at the restaurant gave me the energy to push back at Punjabi chutzpah every night.
Post a Comment