Saturday, August 31, 2024

THINKING AHEAD

While hiding behind my computer, I heard my apartment mate exclaiming over what she was watching on youtube. "I think that's a cyst". Followed shortly by "wah, sonofabitch! Look at the size of that thing!" And: "whoa, damn' that's ugly! Daaaaamn'!"

Thank you for sharing. Please don't share anymore.

Somehow, I don't think she has ever wigged on to the fact that the Dutchman with whom she shares this apartment is a sensitive man. As indeed I am.

See, the problem is that she is on the spectrum. So am I, but I hide it better than her. And while I applaud the quest for knowledge, and scientific curiosity in general, I would rather read about the process in this case than hear adulatory voice-overs. I can appreciate both, including the visuals, if it's a nature channel documentary about meerkats, for instance, or river otters. Or weasels. The weasel war dance. Yeah baby.

And that entire miniseries about the hyenas and lions and the zebra?
That too was kind of cool. Saw that after midnight in the hospital.
They kept me overnight after they had given me valium.
Don't want the old fellow twitching.
It might rip something.

So, necessarily, what is often described as an in-and-out procedure, turned into a comatose human lump on a gurney wheeled upstairs and into a nice clean room to wake up. Next time I have that done, I'm packing an overnight bag with pipes and tobacco. As long as there's no intravenous drip I can make a clean get away, or scoot out for half an hour to have a smoke.
The pity is that unlike SF Chinese hospital, that other hospital is not surrounded by places to eat. Or have a nice cup of milk tea and a pastry. It's sort of a food desert out there in that part of the city. Getting to the sidewalk across the street, can do. But hiking a dozen blocks in a desperate search for caffeine in the middle of the night, maybe not.

Why DID they put that hospital there? So many medical facilities in this city are miles away from bakeries, restaurants, and bars. Why is that? It's a wasteland!


At least with SF Chinese Hospital there's fatty snacks and caffeine within one or two blocks in every direction. As well as alleyways in which a smoker can hide.


Any future endovascular procedure clearly requires careful advance planning.
經皮腔內血管成形術 ('ging pei hong noi huet kun sing ying suet').
A percutaneous transluminal angioplasty.
It's minimally invasive!
血管內。



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Friday, August 30, 2024

YANKILY DANKILY, NEIGHBORINO

The approach to Labor Day always reminds me of syphilis-ridden trailerparks out in the hinterlands with all the meth labs and slope-brows, which, if memory serves, describes most of Washington State, plus Port St Lucie (FL), Levelland (TX), Cedar Park (TX), Cheyenne (WY), and several other places, including the rearview parts of California.
Entirely because of racist dingoes on Yelp.

Never been to any of those places. They're probably paragonic.

I fondly imagine the average resident of those places waking up to pee in the midlle of the night, and stumbling to the corner store for a six pack of crappy beer (as advertised on their favourite television station, affiliated with Fox News) so that they'll wake up again when it's daylight to pee, just in time to go to work.

Labor Day upsets their routine. And requires more beer.
Plus they'll have to spend it with their family.
Including the non-beer drinkers.
In daylight.

So I can sympathize with people who decide to see the real America, by going on a roadtrip. To Black Rock City in northwestern Nevada. Nothing is more real than stoned naked people in hundred degree heat eating tofu dogs.
This year, as always, I shan't be going. I'm not dressed for it, and I hate tofu dogs.

What you need for the journey is two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers. And a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls. Plus a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, and sunglasses.


The mind recoils in horror.



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Thursday, August 29, 2024

THE REWARD

Seeing as I got down to the hospital much earlier than was required for checking in at the front desk for my thyroid and chest CT scans, I got both of those done in record time, and split from the radiology department well in advance of the time I was supposed to be there for the second one. Plus I got some necessary paperwork done in a different department as well. Why, I was the very model of outpatient efficiency! So I treated myself to a pack of smuggled mainland ciggies and an early lunch.

I have made it a point after leaving a hospital environment to light up.
Either my pipe, or some ciggies bought in Chinatown.
Today's reward: 利群香煙。

Lei kwan heung yin. Profitable clusters, made in Zhejiang Province (浙江省 'jit gong saang'). Virginia type.


After lunch (紅燒斑球飯同奶茶), which was very good, I headed into the alley and lit up my pipe. Shortly after that I spied the bookseller crossing the street, and hurried to catch up with him. He was taking care of errands on the second day of his weekend, and we walked down to Sansome Street together, where I caught the bus back to my neck of the woods.
As you probably guess, I have never been even close to the factory where my Virginia type cigarettes were made. Some of my tea and porcelain comes from there, as did people I knew years ago. But to me it's part of the Ling Nan hinterlands, the area to the north of Hong Kong and Kwangtung. Brigands, rebel armies, and salt smugglers. And, along the coast, pirates.
Mountains, rivers, lakes, estuaries, and rainforests.
Tigers, kingfishers, malaria.

For some bizarre reason the British wanted to trade there, for which Hong Kong would be their base of operations. Instead, the Cantonese took their ball and ran with it, turning Hong Kong into a brash and thriving commercial metropole despite the best British efforts to have a nice sleepy colonial outpost. The local people benefitted enormously from the absence of Manchurians and official corruption, created their own business houses, and did things the British never intended them to. Manufacturing, movies, publishing houses, an entire record industry, plastics, real estate speculation .....


The hospital is excellent. Top notch treatment, efficient and extremely capable staff, within two blocks in any direction of lunch and unhealthy snacks including many high cholesterol items which I love, as well as at least a dozen brands of cigarettes not legally imported into the United States. It has ties with the oldest hospital in Hong Kong, and, very important for a Dutch American, there is truly exquisite roast duck and roast pork in easy walking distance, even with these crappy poor circulation legs. Mostly downhill.

Trust me, the roast meats are very important.

They immensely benefit the soul.
And healing processes.
As you know.



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MONTANA EQUALS GREECE

During the first hour after the caffeine hits the brain, and the daily dosages of blood pressure pills start working, the mind is likely to do some very strange things. The synapses haven't assumed their regular routes, the hatches aren't battened down, the sails are flapping a bit. And for quite inexplicable reason I tried connecting a Fibonacci sequence to the wildfires in Montana and Greece. Which doesn't work, and there is no logical link.

Greece has numerous famous culturally significant sites.
Montana has beer, Billings, and grizzly bears.
It is the most Wyoming of states.
Other than Wyoming.

Billings is located where Clark's Fork Bottom once used to be. I found this out by reading Wikipedia. I don't need to read Wikipedia about Greece, naturally, because it cropped up in multiple contexts during grammar and high school classes. Montana didn't.
Which tells you that I went to school before the nineties.

The period between Fork Bottom and Billings was lawless, churchless, and liquour fuelled.
Things went downhill from there.

In recent years, a publication named Billings the best small city in which to start a business. Despite there being no resemblance whatsoever to any culturally significant urban centres anywhere else in the world. When you find an opening, fill it.
In fact, the only reason why it is even floating around on the surface of my mind is the recent wildfires. Last week Greece had wildfires. So did, and does, Northern California, but I haven't been thinking about the frontier zone locally, just noting that the frontier zone of both Greece and Montana are also burning up.

Combustibility. And panic.

Despite the remarkable similarity of San Francisco to Athens (good food, lots of wine, and eccentric philosophers everywhere), we do not need to worry about wildfires here. Unless they come roaring up the peninsula. But we look on in horror.



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Wednesday, August 28, 2024

NATURAL SAVAGERY

Having survived a bad bout of pneumonia five or six months ago, he's now having nose-bleeds. The tissues up there are thin and dried out. And he looks a little more fragile than before. But he's got his dander mostly back, and is feisty again. So, given that he's past eighty, he's made a miraculous recovery. Plus he mentioned some lovely chyü sau (豬手 "hog knuckles") he saw the other day, regretfully, because he didn't order a plate.
So I can probably guess where he's having dinner this evening.

All old men should sometimes have some pig's trotters. Good for skin and bones.
And it probably lubricates the dessicated nasal tissues too.
Also, they're good for puerperal women.
Per traditional belief.


My lunch today had nothing to do with any of that. It was, however good for the tissues. The heat yesterday having left me limp and drained. Imagine a sudden rain storm drenching the cracked soil of the desert, revitalizing the tinder-dry fibres of whatever trees and cacti dot the landscape. It hits at twilight, bringing coolness and welcome relief. The rattlesnakes and jack rabbits emerge from their holes and gambol joyously before devouring each other.

Look, I don't know what exactly goes on in nature, okay?
There could be carnivorous leporids.
It's their choice.
Once the juvenile jack rabbit erupts violently from the chest of the host human which its mother face-hugged, it must make a decision on whether it is vegetarianly inclined, will become a savage carnivore, or subsist entirely on minerals and tofu.

It's something intensely personal, you shouldn't judge.
Both a lifestyle, and survival of the fattest.
Not all leporids are strict vegans.
Don't force them.


Anyhow, I'm glad to see him back among the living, no longer a zombie seeking out a warm rock in the sunlight on which to rest and blink his eyes while sucking up the heat.


Tune in next week for more biology lessons: how chocolate soufflé is murder.
All those big-headed embryos encased in calcium carbonate!
Only some of them chocolate flavoured.
The others just spam.



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DOCTOR WHO?

The speaker at the burger joint was too loud. Bad Daddy rap is not improved by volume. Someone should tell them that. But they'll have to shout. Afterwards we took one look at the crowd at a place where often we go for beer and Earl Grey, and gave it a miss.
It was jampacked with Europeans and serious people.

The karaoke place had two lovely songs in Mandarin followed by Lady Gaga and something forgetable. Accompanied by a gentleman snoring at the bar. Afterwich we went up the street to another place. Where there were neither Europeans nor songbirds.

Shirtsleeve weather, even long after sundown. And I've recovered from the shots last week, so I could truly appreciate the sweltering heat during the day. Isn't it lovely? Gosh we've been looking forward to sunny weather oh my. It's liberating. I shan't make any snide comments about unseemingly clothing on people with or without the bodies for that, because I'm a diplomatic sort without an evil bone in my body.
And, truly, I believe in being nice.


Life is so much better when you regard everyone with kindness.
Despite all their obvious flaws.

Which are much more evident in hot weather.
It's time for yearly physicals. Which we talked about. What do they call that procedure where they send a snake up your rear to check for Jimma Hoffa and growths? My friend is almighty chuffed that no Mars probe is needed. I, on the other hand, was chuffed because of a briar pipe I re-finished, which I did not mention. When he started talking about enemas all I could think of is a possible scene in a Bollywood movie with hundreds of singing and dancing people dressed in lab coats and scrubs, a nice cheerful tune that would last ten or twenty minutes. As they do. On the roof top. In the rain. Where our heroine's thin nurse's sari is plastered to her body. I need to clarify that during our weekly pub crawl I drink tea, and consequently was zipped to the gills on overmuch caffeine, and a recent smoke.
Whereas he had Jameson's in his system and had just finished a cigar.


The town is filled with Germans and French. Allmost makes me wish I spoke better German, so that I could find out what they think of a place with none of Karl May's picturesque Indians.
We have no noble savages here. Lots of ignoble civilizados, however.
We are two hours away from any indigeneous casino.
It's a spiritual failing.


By the way: I am not fond of Lady Gaga.
Maybe there's something wrong with me.



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Tuesday, August 27, 2024

WHERE THICKNESS SWIRLS

My arm still hurts from the RSV vaccine a week ago. Which is odd, because for the first twelve hours I didn't feel a darned thing. Then it proceded to wreck an entire night, day, and night. But by the time I get my flu shot and yet another covid booster I should be fine. Wow, that's THREE nanochips, if an acquainance from a certain faith community (the batshit paranoid crazies) can be believed. THREE!
Five G and everything.

I'm not quite sure if that means they can see me or I can see them.
He has not ellucidated, and I haven't asked.
Did I mention batshit crazy?
Him. And his.

He is in several ways so goofy I fear his chocolate has all melted.
The landing lights along his runway have burned out.
The fog is thick along his off ramp.

Manuka honey, wheat grass, and apple cider vinegar.
Plus space aliens. Ancient space aliens.
Taught human beings religion.
And pyramids.
Because I am an easy-going man and do not like to argue with elderly crazy people, I have patiently listened to him expound wondrously about scientific matters, ancient aliens, vaccine nano-chips, miraculous medical knowledge of tribals who according to Wikipedia have very low life-expectancies, orders of druids, and the deep state which is delaying the second coming of something connected to all of the above and keeping mankind ignorant.
He's done his own research. And he knows the truth. He knows!
His off ramp seems to stop short of the ground.
Besides being always foggy.

All in all I am happy I haven't seen him in months.
Dealing with enlightened people drains one.
Even under ideal conditions.



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Monday, August 26, 2024

IMPROVING THE MIND

Sometimes people have lovely smiles. I noticed that on the bus (the driver), at the jewelers where I was looking at watches, at the hospital pharmacy when I was picking up refills, and later at the place where I went to have a bite to eat. A late lunch, more like dinner. But it was also breakfast, because I had wasted the entire day putzing about. As happens too often on my first day off after being at work. Fermented tofu pig's knuckle rice (南乳豬手飯 'naam yü chyü sau faan'). First time in a long time I had that. Delicious. Great juices!

I was looking at watches because I couldn't find the watch I usually wear. Having looked all over the place, I concluded I must have lost it on the way home, and sought a replacement. Just in case they didn't have one I took the watch I haven't worn in ages over too so that the battery could be replaced. They did not have a replacement (I'm very particular, and do not want a vulgar shiny metal banded watch, or a big thick flashy clunker), the older watch now works again and I'll probably wear it henceforth, and this evening I again looked in a place where I should have looked better before (behind a large box that contains Nicaraguan cigars, don't ask) and consequently I now have two perfectly functional watches on my bedside table. Nice old fashioned conservative timepieces.

I had spent much of the day fussing with a briar pipe I'm restoring.
Neurotic about certain details. I probably need help.
And I quite lost track of time.
It's not done yet, and will take a while longer. A very common problem with Petersons is that many of their finishes are perfectly dreadful, and over the years their eyes have sometimes faded in the factory to the point of uselessness. I suspect that it's probably like an old folks social club there, poor dears, because who the heck wants to go work in a factory making dusty old pipes if they've graduated college and can sit behind a desk in an air-conditioned brightly lit office cruising the internet all day while they're supposed to be working at a far greater rate of pay?

Plus I don't have a buffing wheel or drills here, so what should take minutes must take much longer. And often gets interrupted by my computer nearby.


I suspect that when I finally left the apartment late in the day I may not have been quite as sane or composed as I should like to have been. When I returned three hours later I was a different individual. Getting out, and eating something that restores the blood sugar levels, have a great effect in that regard.

So does juicy, fatty, gelatinous, tender meat.
With hot sauce and cold milk tea.
Capped by a smoke.



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A REALM OF MENTAL DESICCATION

It strikes me that one of the main reasons that I do not associate much with cigar smokers is that far too many of them are mildly bigoted snobs. That bunch of old fossils I babysit during my workweek being exceptions; most of them are extraordinarily bigoted classist garbage. Better than thou because of age, mental rigidity, and lots of money. They've insulated themselves from their fellow humans.

One good example is the retired member of the judicial branch who underneath a veneer of liberal humanist culture and literacy is a sour old conservative intellectual hack who prefers not to even speak to people below him. Another is a man of bohemian appearance making more than is good for him with purist nature points of view who loves talking to people with money and some similar tastes and sneers at everybody else. He's superficially aware of other things, but feels that they are of much less worth than everything he represents.

Shan't even mention the ex-cop racist bordline nazi.
Wrong border. It's the other side.


There are fine people in Marin, but far less than appearances suggest.
The level of sewage is absolutely staggering.
Pervasive rot.
The amount of vomitous opinionation I hear during my working hours about limited edition cigars, rare Scotch, sports teams, what's wrong with the common man, and how Trump and his con-conspirators will save civilization when the rotten evil libtards and that black witch are finally defeated, is absolutely unbelievable. They are firm believers in that last, by the way, they've drunk the Koolaid. Like liquour and nerve pills, they swallow it by the bucket.
It's so reassuring, so social pretenses affirming. So nice warm blankyish.
They are all mental Red-Staters and emotionally crippled.
It was probably their parents.

I have reason to believe that almost none of them read beyond a fourth grade level, and the old git who swans in after lunch never finishes any of the books he flaunts.

His mind is already full.


Often the only decent man there is a member of the medical profession just quietly trying to get things done, and mind his own business. Not suprisingly, he too has lost his cool once or twice when the others spout drivel. Yet he is, fundamentally, more tolerant of them and their blithering, than I am. I am not a nice man.



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Sunday, August 25, 2024

MICROELECTRONIC WOMBAT

Tourists! Please be aware that busses that go through Sausalito do NOT take Apple Pay, credit cards, or money orders. Cash, or transit card. Do not point your cellphone at the driver, there is no processor in their body, they do not accept Microelectronic Wombat like they do in Italy and France. Also, the bus that picks you up in Sausalito, or anywhere in Marin, does not go to Fishermans Wharf, Chinatown, or North Beach. It is NOT a tourist bus.
Some of us use it to go to or from work.

In the morning, in Sausalito, there are usually a whole host of people loudly speaking gabble-gabble who get off. When they boarded in San Francisco they delayed the bus for up to ten minutes before they grasped that credit cards, Apple Pay, or even Microelectronic Wombat (accepted by civilized countries like Italy, France, and North Vestibule) were not going to get them on board. And arguing with the bus driver would not make it so.

In the evening, arguing with the bus driver will not make it so either.
Cash, or transit card. Not Microelectronic Wombat.

By the way: Sausalito is an ancient Phoenician phrase that translates to: "blimey, this place is an effing hellhole!" Quite likely Sausalito is exactly why the aliens haven't contacted us.
Also, let me tell you what you can do with Microelectric Wombat.
Which they use universally where you come from.
Or so we've been told.
FUTURE SALES KIOSK FOR MICROELECTRONIC WOMBAT

Why is it that only the Japanese and Chinese have done some research and don't insist on Microelectric Wombat? Or Euros? Or green stamps? Also, they do not dress like sluts and beachbums, and have attended to personal hygiene recently. That can't be said for people from Europe or elsewhere in the United States. Good lord!

And as far as the Europeans go, the French, with ditchwater that could give you diseases, and a nasty habit of eating frogs and snails, developed a monumental wine industry. Wine with breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The English, having British cuisine and being outrageous alcoholics, became their major customers. The Germans, for similar reasons, brewed an ocean of beer. The Dutch and Scottish, lacking even the rudiments of cooking, went straight for distilates. Shan't even mention the Irish. Scandinavians of course have lutefisk and surströmming.

[The US West Coast has all the above except the two angst-inducing maritime products. Plus coffee, because we also suffer from hipness and an urge to talk. And Isaac informs me that San Diego is one of the top exporters of uni, which is of course the genitals of sea urchins so that counts for something.]


Also, some of us here understand your languages. You have no privacy.
We're good at straight faces.


One other thing: Hawaiian Pizza was invented in Canada. It has no connection with Hawaii or anywhere in the United States. Canada. We don't know where you can find the best version of it in SF, and kindly stop blaming the United States for it.
It is hugely popular across the Atlantic.
Not so much here.



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COFFEE HITS THE CEREBRAL CORTEX

As we all know, when they tell you that the call came from within the building, always look behind you. Worst case scenario: the monster who was supposed to be dead is rising up. Best case: Nadia the old Russian woman is gnawing a cucumber. Or maybe that's also a worst case scenario. My experience with elderly Russians says it could be either.
If it's a Russian of either gender, the conversation may turn to turnips.


"In old country, turnips are glorious! American turnip, no good!"


It's not just me. I think everyone has issues with Eastern European social skills.
And Americans. on the whole, are not so heavily into turnips.

An internet search of turnip recipes turned up caramelized turnips, cheese crusted turnips with bacon, and creamy Southern turnip suprise.
What's commonly refered to as a 'turnip' in Chinese style recipes is actually daikon, a radish (raphanus sativus), whereas the actual turnip is a cabbage root (brassica rapa). Scotsmen and Slavic types will be bitterly disappointed if you give them a daikon instead. They had so hoped for real turnips! They will probably weep. I'm just guessing here. Their cuisines are remarkably similar. Boiled onions, boiled turnips, boiled groats, boiled sheep stomach.
In what is sure to be a blow to Scots and Slavs everywhere, turnip season, normally from October through the winter, is going to be delayed a bit this year. Global climate change.
And the crop may not be up to par. Kind of watery.


I feel the pain.


Perhaps I shouldn't read internet news articles at five thirty in the morning. The mind is all jangly at this hour. Caffeine, nicotine, highly refined sugar. Buzz, buzz, buzz.



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Saturday, August 24, 2024

DESPERATE MEASURES

After a full day slaving at the salt mines a man requires sustenance. This blogger is all about sustenance, provided it's not something cooked by anyone from the core Midwestern states. Boiled corn, and potato slurry ("mashed", no butter, salt, pepper, bacon, or cayenne) only count as 'sustenance' if one is desperate.

One should never be that desperate.

And please remember that I grew up on a lot of Dutch-Indonesian food (except for my mother's neurodivergent culinary practices) and I know how to cook.
And, living in San Francisco, I have access.

Both means, and motive.


Plus I work in Marin County, so I'm damned well desperate. Suburbia is a blasted wasteland gustatorily, where a lack of imagination, and bland cheese flavoured chips are king.
Possibly the totally perfect snack for all suburban coke fiends.

As I suspect a large residential percentage there are.
Men, women, children. And Tesla owners.
The chosen masses.
Perhaps I shouldn't have steamed the salt fish but used it to chase away the skeevies out on the street just down the block. It's a guarantee that young white office slackers haven't seen anything of such robust flavour, and would quail in fear.


I am reminded that bowling trophies would be perfect blunt objects.
Or maybe Junior Chamber of Commerce golf trophies.
Anything charity tournament related.
All for a good cause.



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Friday, August 23, 2024

THE REWARD FOR BEING A GOOD LITTLE DROOGUS

For some reason totally unconnected to the hospital & clinic, and not their fault in any way whatsoever, I associate my healthcare with having a good smoke. It's taken a while to figure out why that is. Part of it is that half a dozen medical men I knew at various stages of my life were fervent pipe smokers (and three I know at the present time enjoy cigars), part of it is the neighborhood where the hospital is located (and where everyone either has a relative who smokes, or IS the relative who smokes) and where frequently after doing anything at all locally I light up a pipe, and part of it undoubtedly is my own orneriness.

[Remarkably, orneriness is a characteristic I share with quite a number of their patients. And I've often run into patients of theirs within a two block radius after an appointment enjoying a ciggy, or at a bakery nearby getting themselves ever closer to full-blown diabetes and kidney failure.]


In all honesty, there is nothing quite as enjoyable as filling up a bowl and lighting it after being jabbed, pricked, pierced, and whatever else happens at the clinic. When I was in the ICU, the hotsauce improved my mood, but not nearly as much as lighting up when they kicked me out after a week. It testifies to their skill and expertise that I haven't been in the ICU since then.

Blood tests, vaccinations, firm instructions to this time provide a poo sample?

Why, I think that requires a pipe! I deserve a pipe!
My arm hurts. Time for a pipe.
Over the past five years I've had jabs so many times I've lost count, and except for the time they were wheeling me into surgery, I "rewarded" myself with a pipe immediately afterwards.
I would have done so then too, except, you know, smoking in the theatre is frowned upon.
And I had counted backwards from twenty and was out of it.


The illustration above shows the medical equipment needed to maintain the health and wellbeing of a stubborn Dutchman. The banana is included for scale, because most Americans need that.



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Thursday, August 22, 2024

FINISHING WITH COCOLATE CREAM PIE

Let's just say I got a hell of a lot acomplished today. Including going down to the hospital for blood tests (part of the yearly "let us check and make certain the old fossil is still alive and kicking"), visit to the pharmacy to make sure my refills will be ready next week, caffeination and sustenance almost immediately afterward (having fasted for the required twelve hours beforehand), upgrading my transit card, grocery shopping, and a visit to the store for some illegal cigarettes.

Oh, and cussing a woman doing that wavy gesture that some anti-smoking old Karens do when they think their nostrils are being assaulted. In a language she wouldn't understand, sotto voce in any case. As she was getting into her soccer mom vehicle illegally parked.

[Karen: a venomous bitchy white woman with an attitude problem.]


So, it strikes me that now is a good time to post a list of essential Cantonese vocabulary for the middle-aged Dutch American bachelor living near Chinatown in San Francisco.
If you are a middle-aged Dutch American bachelor, you will find it useful.

VOCABULARY
貧血 ('pin huet'): Anaemia, anaemic. My apartment mate desires to donate blood again. She shouldn't. I've told her she's anaemic.
麵粉不耐症 ('min fan pat noi jing'): gluten intolerance, an imaginary ailment.
便秘 ('pin pei'): constipation, such as venomous suburban Karens often have.
走私香煙,非法香煙 ('jau si heung yin, fei faat heung yin'): illegal cigarettes smuggled in. Of which you see the empty discarded packs all over the place.
抽緊血 ('chau gan huet'): having blood drawn (抽血 'chau huet') for a test.
醫生嘅預約 ('yi sang ge yiu yeuk'): doctor's appointment.
前台登記 ('chin toi teng kei'): signing in at the front desk.
三包駱駝牌煙,唔該 ('saam baau lok to pai yin, m koi'): three packs of Camels, please. They weren't actually Camels but Wu Ye Shen filter ciggies (三葉神,過濾香煙 'ng yip san gwo leui heung yin'), but you probably prefer Camels. More doctors smoke Camels than any other cigarette.
嘩,我好耐冇見過小麥護士 ('waa, ngo hou noi mow kin gwo siu mak wu si'): well jeez, I haven't seen little nurse Mak in a long time!
朱古力忌廉派 ('jyu gu lik kei lim paai'): chocolate cream pie, which my apartment mate had for breakfast this morning, asserting that it would combat anaemia so that she can donate blood. She actually doesn't have anaemia, but I have a needle phobia, so ...
Some chocolate cream pies have shavings on top or even shredded coconut. Which really is overkill. Whipped cream only is fine, trust me. Contrary to popular belief, this does not counter anaemia or any other blood disorders (血液疾病 'huet yik jat peng'; 血病 'huet peng'). Though if you have impaired kidney function (腎臟功能受損 'sang jong kung nang sau suen') you might want to avoid banana chocolate cream pie because of potasium (鉀 'gaap'). 香蕉含鉀量高 ('heung jiu haam gaap leung kou'; "bananas are high in potassium").
Not my problem, but they sometimes make me itch.



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CAPTURING THE FULL LOATHSOMENESS

Now, having spent most of yesterday feeling like something the cat dragged in, courtesy of a vaccination which will keep me from dying when I hadn't planned it, I am determined to add icing to the cake by heading over to the lab for blood tests this morning. Which means no breakfast (something I usually delay or omit anyhow), but also no caffeine. Life is grim, horrid, and bleak without caffeine. One can understand why European peasants in the Middle Ages kept whacking each other on the head. Sometimes with blunt objects. Sometimes with bladed things. Like battle axes.

There you are, wondrously transported to a famous mediaeval principality, which should be interesting, fascinating even, and some hairy unwashed brute (Sven or Igor) attacks you with a mace determined to steal your thermos of hot coffee you packed for the journey.
It might ruin your entire time travel trip.

You came prepared. For a lack of certian amenities.

You weren't expecting a syphilitic brute jonesing for bean extract.

The magic potion that transforms a brute into a man.
The other thing you notice, almost immediately, is that Sven or Igor has greasy skin and a weird haircut. It's stiff with diluted egg white fixative and orpiment.
A garish version of the village idiot.


Odious fellow.


What would really make people flock with alacrity to the blood lab (驗血室 'yim huet sat') early in the morning would be if there was a stand with chocolate pie waiting for them there. Plus a warm caffeinated beverage. Maybe they should put the lab in a dim sum teahouse?
Here, have some scrumptious snackies! 但先,抽血!('daan sin, chau huet!)



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Wednesday, August 21, 2024

OH LOOK, BLINKY THINGS!

Like many middle-aged men I find myself hopping up and down and cussing furiously after my physical coordination has come a cropper. Then I get distracted by something I see, and forget all about the stubbed toe or bruised elbow. Oh wow, look at all the boxes!
Empty cigar boxes! Mostly empty. How many of these things do I have?

They're useful. Not that I have actually used many of them. But boxes are nice.

Sunlight reflected off the ceramics adds light to the room.

Perhaps I should rearrange my pipes?

Why does my foot hurt?

Oh, yes.


The great advantage of cigar boxes is that you can stack them neatly, or slide them out of sight into bookshelves. But when you are not paying attention they multiply.
Even when you hardly smoke cigars, being a pipesmoker.
Maybe a couple of cigars a week.
At most.
Collections and stockpiles are probably a sign of neurosis. Tea pots. Books. Cigar boxes. Drafting equipment (mechanical pencils, many of them architects pencils or fine points).
Tins of pipe tobacco for a rainy day, and a pretty good pipe collection.

All of this accumulated gradually. The pipe collection is large enough that I keep the current rotation on a tea tray near my chair in the teevee room, and the rest in boxes in a bookshelf. Every few months I shake things up a bit, putting some of them away and pulling out others for smoking. There are also a bunch that I need to restore, old damaged briars culled from elsewhere specifically because they are good projects. And a few that I acquired because the specific version of the shape or the glow to the wood, speak of a previous era. There is just something about certain shapes and textures that lures the eye. Three Peterson's that say "early sixties, engineer, Southern Califonia", for instance, or "snooty young man at Harvard". George who liked one particular shape because it hung nicely while he was writing a report after surgery. The American Chinese gentleman whose wife hoped that his pipes would find a good home. The retired fellow who liked to browse for hours on end, the lawyer who died years ago, the ebulient chap whose sudden passing startled all of us.

Even a short Chinese woman who had exacting tastes.
As well as strong opinions, well expressed.

Haven't seen Pauline in years.
She moved to Seattle.

Many of my pipes are items that my father would have liked. Some of them are, in fact, his pipes which he gave to me years ago. I only smoke two of them regularly, the others still have faint whisps of the tobacco he prefered. A blend which when I finally tracked it down had changed. But I could probably reproduce it as it once was.



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MORBIDITY AND MORTALITY

Sometimes I am remarkably innocent, downright unknowing and ignorant. At the beginning of this week I had not even heard of respiratory syncytial virus. Yesterday my doctor mentioned that getting a vaccine against it would probably be a good idea. Mild side effects might include achiness and slight fever. And, as I am all about not dying any earlier than is absolutely necessary, I went for it.

It took about twelve hours for side effects. By late evening yesterday I felt like crap. Soreness at the site, all-body ache, mild irritability, and feverishness. All of which continue to a lesser extent this morning, and at this rate I should be oojah cum spiff again by teatime.

So I look up the respiratory syncytial virus. Key quote from Wikipedia: "While RSV very rarely causes severe disease in healthy adults, it can cause morbidity and mortality in the elderly and in those with underlying immune compromise or cardiopulmonary disease. Older adults have a similar presentation to younger adults but tend to have greater symptom severity with increased risk of lower respiratory tract involvement. In particular, the elderly are more likely to experience pneumonia, respiratory distress, and death." End quote.

So I'm glad I got the vaccine yesterday. But I feel horrible.

RSV is most common during the winter months.
From immediate personal experience, I can state that side effects of the vaccine seriously interfere with enjoyment of one's usual coffee and pipe smoking of a morning. Not as much as "morbidity and mortality" might -- one imagines that both of those, as well as "pneumonia, respiratory distress, and death", could put a crimp on enjoying a nice cup of coffee and a contemplative hour with a pipe, at least for a while (although I can see myself wheeling my hospital bed out of a side door and down the alleyway to indulge in a puff, so I shall have to remember to put a few good briars and a tin of Fribourg & Treyer in my overnight bag if I ever come down with RSV so bad that I need hospitalization or a morgue stay -- but this is darn inconvenient. My usual Wednesday routine of chachanteng for lunch followed by grocery shopping will have to wait till tomorrow.

This cup of coffee does NOT taste as good as previous cups of coffee. It is kind of blah.
I haven't assayed a pipe yet, although last night's smoke after dark was indeed enjoyable. The Virginia leaf reduced to a fine white ash, so there was also that neurotic pleasure.


Well, at least I shall probably not be reposing on a gurney in Trenton Alley trying to stay invisible to passing doctors and nursing staff. Severely decomposing because of that increased likelihood of morbidity and mortality, with a pipe still in my mouth.
That would definitely be a downer.



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Tuesday, August 20, 2024

LITTLE RED BLOSSOM SINGS AN ARIA

After seeing my doctor this morning I am forced to conclude that we have a higher proportion of psychological and intellectual defectives than most other parts of the country. Not the doctor, nor the staff at the hospital or clinic. They're quite sane and balanced, and exceptionally patient with people. But just in general.

The rest of the country is not doing their part, though.
Perhaps they're better at hiding them, or killing them. As well as voting them into office and getting them out of sight that way.

Nut on the bus. Tweaky person at the next intersection after getting off. Something gibbering in three boxes slapped together in the alleyway. Angry middle-aged white hippie woman on the street. Consequently encountering sane and balanced hospital and clinic staff was a refreshing breeze.

Half an hour after seeing my doctor, then scheduling a follow-up appointment after the usual tests for my annual physical plus seeing my cardiologist, I've headed down to the radiology department (放射部 'fong se pou') to request appointments for a CT scan (胸部電腦斷層掃描 'hung pou din nou duen chang sou miu') and a thyroid nodule (甲狀腺結節 'gaap jong sin git jit') scan (甲狀腺節結影像掃描 'gaap jong sin jit git ying jeung sou miu'). Holy mother! The entire place is packed. Elderly Chinese folks smoke like chimneys, and if they're Cantonese they've eaten far too much salt fermented dried fish (鹹魚 haam yü) over their lifetimes and hence have an encreased risk of nasopharyngeal cancers (鼻咽癌 'pei yin ngaam') anyway. Plus they're bored, and might need help. So the wife or husband comes with them.
Perhaps a grandchild of suitable nimbleness and bilinguality.

Or, in the case of an old lady in a wheelchair, a care facility nurse. Because she's eighty or ninety, and doesn't think so good anymore. And sometimes bursts into a red guard song in Mandarin praising the communist party. Her diction is excellent, she sings well. She might not have a clue what the song is about, because in so far as she speaks, she's Cantonese.
Her nurse gently encourages her to not sing. The other people there have that pained look on their faces of "good lord I haven't heard those damned lyrics since the re-education camp and I don't miss them in the slightest I wish she'd bloody well stop" or something similarly unpleasant hearkening back to the cultural revolution era (they are all of that age).
So, having got my appointments arranged, I threw the cat among the pigeons on my way out.

阿姨,你唱得真好好啊!

"Oh auntie, you sang very well!" ('ah yi, nei cheung tak jan hou hou aa!'). Said clearly, in my most unctuous manner, which I'm very good at, and because no one there had heard me speak Cantonese yet (Caucasians generally speaking don't do so) tumult ensued.
Which I could still hear while waiting for the elevator.

If nothing else, I am a spreader of joy and light. A middle-aged male 'little Mary Sunshine'.

As someone I encountered later said: "When you alive do your happy!" Oh I do, trust me.



While having bowl of congee and an oil stick afterwards I got to watch a stressed interaction between an auntie in front of the steamtable with the proprietess behind them.
The latter, though of the same age, clearly had all her marbles.


The same cannot be said for five somewhat younger people inhabiting Portsmouth Square where I enjoyed a post-meal smoke. They were alive. They were doing their happy. The card playing oldsters there have learned to mostly ignore them. This is San Francisco, we have nuts all over the place.



GLOSSARY

胸部 = 'hung pou'; chest.
電腦 = 'din nou'; computer.
斷層掃描 = 'duen chang sou miu'; tomography, tomographic scan.
甲狀腺 = 'gaap jong sin'; thyroid gland.
節結 = 'jit git'; knot, node.
影像 = 'ying jeung'; image.
掃描 = 'sou miu'; "sweep depict", scan.
鼻咽癌 = 'pei yin ngaam'; "nose throat cancers".
咽 = 'yin'; throat, pharynx.
癌 = 'ngaam'; cancer; marmoset.



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FULL OF JAVA

Why, you may ask, is the crazy Dutchman up at the crack of dawn when it is still miserable outside, and he is not going to work today? It's a good question. Rest assured, existential angst has nothing to do with being up at this horrid hour on a non-work day.
Nor does perversion or outright insanity.

In another five weeks I'm heading to my cardiologist. After which I plan to have a delicious breakfast in Chinatown followed by a pipe smoked near the park before the heat of the day.

In another three weeks I've got an appointment to see my optometrist. After that, breakfast and a pipe. Also in Chinatown.

Today, I'm going to my regular physician down at the clinic. In Chinatown.


Following which I intend to have breakfast and a smoke, as well as buying some cigarettes from the Mainland, and visiting my bank. This will require me being fully awake, shaved, and bathed before I leave the house. So I'm having coffee and a smoke early. It's mental preparation. Steel the mind and make sure everything is fully functioning.
San Francisco is a very lonely place out in the early morning fog, gringo. The only creatures you encounter are yuppies and hounds connected to each other by strips of leather, one of them defecating. If they weren't busy doing that the'd probably hunt you down and feed you to the gila monsters that live under the apartment buildings here, still torpid from the cold.

Either Fluffy or Byron may have had too much pizza last night. He looks green.

Neither are fully awake. They haven't had their oatmilk latte.


What they need, obviously, is two strong cups of coffee, a fresh croissant, a newspaper, and a warm bathroom in which to read the sports pages. With an ashtray hidden underneath the sink that Ashley doesn't know about. She'd have a fit if she knew.



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Monday, August 19, 2024

PLEASE, NO HAUNTING ODOURS

The ghost cat is back. It seems fairly harmless, does not pay attention to invisible beings, and as far as I can tell it isn't judging me. Or demanding food. Or killing small things.
Which conclusively proves that it isn't alive anymore.
Especially the food bit.


It probably senses that I am, somewhat, a cat person. So it feels comfortable wandering in and out of the corner of my eye.

The previous times it was here that I noticed were in the half light of early morning or the glow from the light in the hallway on the corner table which I leave on all night so that I can find my way to the bathroom without crashing into things and waking the building up.
There are walls there, and they're closer than I think.

When you indulge in caffeinated beverages all day and also in the evening, you will need to at some point visit the loo. It's an inevitable occurence. I hope that there is also a ghost cat box here, for obvious reasons. Animals sometimes mark their territory.

Don't want ghost pee everywhere.
That would be bad.
One of the reasons I always keep the kitchen window open is to make sure that the reek of my occasional pipe smoked during the day when my apartment mate is at work and I'm off doesn't hang around. Further to that end, I seldom smoke inside after two o'clock, so that any lingering fumes have a chance to dissipate. Other windows also sometimes get opened (I'm used to freezing my nether end off during winter), the door to her room is always firmly shut.

Subterfuge is a virtue. Even if the person who shares part of the apartment has a lousy sense of smell. Which she clearly does. Which is why, as a Cantonese female of fine sensibilities, one would her expect her not to. By any means.

I'm a grumpy bachelor with predictable bad habits.
I cuss in foreign languages and act oddly.
Plus, you know, those smells.

No need to add ghostly urine to the equation.


So far the ghost cat doesn't seem to mind the whisps of matured red Virginia tobacco with a hint of Perique that issue from the teevee room. But it will not come in here much.
It seems to prefer the area near the bookshelves in my bedroom.



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AND IT GLOWS! ONE SIZE FITS ALL!

What I really hate about Youtube is that when you're watching a show, and your hands are fully occupied with microfibre polishing pads because you're restoring an old smoking pipe produced by a respected London company in the 1950's under a brand name which is a known subsidiary line for old decent briar albeit with one or two very minor flaws which made it something that they wouldn't sell under the trademark and name for higher quality 'flagship" smoking equipment so you can't hit 'skip' and get that irritating voice off your screen, they interrupt with a ten minute infomercial for merchandise you do not want, obvious crap.

Miracle underwear that slims the rump. Ice cube polishing devices.
Stainless steel fungoid toenail scrubbers.
Flower pot decals.

Much worse than those icky cancer patient survivor ads from some sleazoid hospital.


This magic brassiere was designed by a retired NASA engineer using patented heat deflection technology to blast cold air into a standard five thousand square foot home amphitheatre! Ice cube manufacturers don't want you to know about it! Lifts, shapes, separates, twirls, and plays the classics! Buy now! Before it's banned in Canada!
PLEASE NOTE THE EDGING!


Click the link below to receive FREE the additional right-side cup for your goldfish AND the antibacterial lace edging with velcro strips to keep all your mammary glands clean and prevent cheese odour! Adjustable sizes!

Promo while supplies last, not available in some states.
If you live in Iowa, additional taxes apply.
Prevents social mishaps!



What on earth made Youtube think I'm in that target demographic?


I'm polishing my briars, fercrapsakes. If I reach over to hit 'skip ad' I may knock my coffee cup off the table or jangle the wires that keep my mouse functioning. There's something wrong with the contact on the side of the device. It's a plug and play issue.

Look, Youtube advertising sales staff, all I want is to watch the damned news programme.
I'm really not interested in antibacterial lace edging to protect my precious mammaries.

And I thrive on social mishaps. Why do you think I smoke a pipe? One of which I'm polishing right now. I'm a walking cocktail party disaster and I smell like your uncle Alphonse who died when Eisenhower was president. A social event? I'll be out back near the cesspool in your backyard communing with the feral cats, okay?



SO not interested!



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