CALL ME 'UNCLE'

This blogger is more than one person. I am in fact several. Most of whom are not so much alive as fictional. Years ago I was a rabbi, a Parsee, and a Chinese American young lady with a short temper. In addition to being several Dutchmen, and a retired lesbian academic.
No, not planning reassignement surgery. Perfectly happy being several Dutchmen.
Fictive, feisty, and avuncular.

The internet encourages a diversity of alternates.

Two years ago, having run afoul of the community standards of Facebook and having been sent to my room for thirty days, I was magically reborn as a kinder sweeter personality, very nurturing of the easily offended little butterflies whom I had refered to both accurately and kindly as "stupid f*&king white people".

I too am a white people.

But I am not stupid, and, as a bachelor with decent values and considerable restraint, I am not in any way procreationally engaged.

The most reality based persona is Dutch, has grey hair, smokes a pipe, and likes a spot of tea in the afternoon with a lovely biscuit or pastry. Plus sambal (chilipaste) on a very large number of things. The others are similar in some ways, though one of them inexplicably likes cricket and supports the Indians against the Pakistanis. Cricket is an absurd game that takes several days to play and requires cucumber sandwiches in the pavilion, while drinking the occasional Pimm's cup.

Dutch speaking, pipe smoking, sambal snarfing.
Single. Caffeinated. Not hugely social.

[PIMM'S CUP: Two ounces of Pimm's No. 1, 3 thin cross-slices of lemon, 3 thin cross-slices of orange, 1 lengthwise quarter of a cucumber, 1 small sprig of mint, Ice cubes, Ginger ale, a squeeze of lime. Put the lemon and orange slices in a lowball glass, add ice cubes, and stir up with a cocktail spoon to re-distribute the citrus. Pour in the two ounces of liqueur, and top with a spritz of ginger ale. Stick the cucumber wedge down into the drink, and garnish with the mint. Then waffle authoritatively about Imran Khan.]

Obviously, many cricket fans are the world's club bores. If they're Parsee or Punjabi, they drink Scotch and water instead, and can at least talk about food, but if they're Australian they have no life, eat Vegemite sandwiches, and probably smell bad (too much tanning oil and salt water crocodile).


Most of my alter egos are presently comatose. Suspended animation.
They probably won't wake up any time soon.
Being Dutch is enough.



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