Most insane conspiracy theories come from the rightwing, probably because leftwingers are sober realists dealing with harsh realities and screaming into the void. Conservatives have to invent their own void to be deliciously terrified about. During my working hours I deal mostly with rightwing hosebags who have no sense of reality outside their own bubbles, rich but limited imaginations, and social handicaps.
This has made me keely appreciative of the police and hospital staff who regularely have to deal with people having psychotic episodes. Here in San Francisco there are a few of those.
I would argue that in much of the country (the red states), that is the norm, and therefore the police and hospital staff seldom actually deal with those folks but must resort to strong-arm tactics and cattle-prods immediately, there.
The fascists have nothing to fear.
I do not plan to visit.
Well anyway, because the vast majority of the rightwing voters in this country seem to be anti-science shortsighted inhumane garbage adulating retards psychotically cheering on the jackboots, I might as well tolerate the tofu-heads I occasionally encounter here (they're harmless), and spew venom about Republicans.
Frankly, I despise Republicans. Especially the hosebags I encounter at work. I've cut all the others whom I used to know out of my life and blocked them on Facebook, so I don't even know if they're still alive, hope they aren't, but don't give a damn' either way.
Naturally that also goes for many overtly religious people.
And most Christians. Overwhelmingly.The batshittery has left the fringes and is heading toward the centre.
In polite society one should avoid talking about sex, money, politics, or religion. Borderline, or more than borderline, anti-Semitism and racism, are right out, and passionately arguing that shape-shifting lizards are in charge of the government, in a rational society should be a guaranteed one-way ticket to the loony bin.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Warning: May contain traces of soy, wheat, lecithin and tree nuts. That you are here
strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton.
And that you might like cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.
Thursday, August 07, 2025
TOO MUCH TIME, TOO LITTLE
Because I spent so much time with superpaint yesterday, I failed to do my laundry and did not go to the bank. So that's what I'll have to do today. See, the restaurant where I head for lunch on Wednesdays closes at three, and they prefer not to have too many people come in close to that time. Which, having been in the restaurant business myself, I can understand. So instead of doing laundry in a timely manner before lunch, I continued drawing an illustration of a virus till after one o'clock. I'm a bit obsessive that way.
Lunch, pipe smoke, errands, shopping, tea at a favourite bakery.
Crystal pears (水晶梨 'seui jing lei') for the Indonesian woman downstairs, and some big Toishan filled buns (台山大包 'toi saan taai baau') for my landlady. Neither of them get out to Chinatown much, I fear. Plus two types of odd Asian potato chips for my apartment mate, as well as a toisaan bao for her. She, too, doesn't get down to Chinatown nearly enough.
By the way, all three of them are ethnically Chinese.
And presumably they are seriously into food.
And I'm a Brabander. So naturally I am. The above is not yesterday morning's virus. I drew it after returning home to relax. Along with some birds, and two landscapes. Did I mention obsession? Viruses are elegant, sometimes, and their pictures could very well be company logos or cigar band illustrations.
"Smoke Rotavirus Nicaragua Perfectos! People love Rotavirus!"
Or Chikungunya Hondurans, maduro panatellas.
You know, there are good reasons why I am not in Marketing. And I really loved S. Frog's advertising campaign for Conquistador Instant Coffee, name changed to Conquistador Instant Leprosy. As featured on Monty Python's Flying Circus.
"Conquistador Coffee brings a new meaning to the word vomit!"
A free dead dog with every jar. Conquistador: the tingling fresh coffee which brings you exciting new cholera, mange, dropsy, the clap, boils and athlete's foot.
Brilliant. Could really make coffee drinkers stop and think.
And they'll finally know the name Conquistador.
Perhaps you don't want Rotavirus.
At least not in your mouth.
You know, I would be keen to try Conquistador.
It sounds exciting and hip.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Lunch, pipe smoke, errands, shopping, tea at a favourite bakery.
Crystal pears (水晶梨 'seui jing lei') for the Indonesian woman downstairs, and some big Toishan filled buns (台山大包 'toi saan taai baau') for my landlady. Neither of them get out to Chinatown much, I fear. Plus two types of odd Asian potato chips for my apartment mate, as well as a toisaan bao for her. She, too, doesn't get down to Chinatown nearly enough.
By the way, all three of them are ethnically Chinese.
And presumably they are seriously into food.
And I'm a Brabander. So naturally I am. The above is not yesterday morning's virus. I drew it after returning home to relax. Along with some birds, and two landscapes. Did I mention obsession? Viruses are elegant, sometimes, and their pictures could very well be company logos or cigar band illustrations.
"Smoke Rotavirus Nicaragua Perfectos! People love Rotavirus!"
Or Chikungunya Hondurans, maduro panatellas.
You know, there are good reasons why I am not in Marketing. And I really loved S. Frog's advertising campaign for Conquistador Instant Coffee, name changed to Conquistador Instant Leprosy. As featured on Monty Python's Flying Circus.
"Conquistador Coffee brings a new meaning to the word vomit!"
A free dead dog with every jar. Conquistador: the tingling fresh coffee which brings you exciting new cholera, mange, dropsy, the clap, boils and athlete's foot.
Brilliant. Could really make coffee drinkers stop and think.
And they'll finally know the name Conquistador.
Perhaps you don't want Rotavirus.
At least not in your mouth.
You know, I would be keen to try Conquistador.
It sounds exciting and hip.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, August 06, 2025
THE WALLOP
A few years ago my doctor recommended another vaccine. Which, being generally speaking, quite trusting of my medical professionals, I readily agreed to. One must be selective of the advice one takes, especially regarding health. The people who were telling me to dose with manuka honey, apple cider vinegar, and extra ginger and turmeric, and to also avoid gluten, were too dingbattish to take seriously. The person who told me to speak firmely to my doctor and get off the trailer park medicine, as well as do chair yoga, ditto. And the fellows who were convinced that the Covid jab was poisonous AND had nano-chips that were spying on me for the government were of course entirely off their rocker, and I'm extremely surprised that two of them are still alive.
[Manuka honey etc.: turns out it was circulatory issues and ischemia, necessitating a coronary stent. For which honey and cider won't do diddly. Avoiding gluten does squat. Trailer park medicine: That's clopidogrel (plavix) apparently. Which had been prescribed to keep the stent from clogging up. Quitting it would have killed me. Quite irrespective of the benefits to my imaginary chakras and aura from doing chair yoga. Covid jab nano-chips: Do NOT take any advice from adherents of Republican conspiracy medical theories. And wear your damned mask.]
So anyhow, that recommended extra vaccine was the RSV jab. Per Wikipedia: "having chronic heart or lung disease is also a risk factor". Additionally, weakened immune systems, doddering old age, and being around infectious hippie-dippies who self-medicate with crap like honey and vinegar, with or without ginger and turmeric, also come into play.
And I'm glad I got it. Those people who advocate magic vinegar and honey, gluten avoidance, chair yoga, and similar feel-good nostrums should kindly shut up. And please swallow bucket loads of panchagavya, because it's potent juju and mighty spiritual. Thank you.
By the way: chiropractic and naturopathy are codswallop.
I'm priggishly pleased that I ignore all of that.
And I'm still alive, too.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
[Manuka honey etc.: turns out it was circulatory issues and ischemia, necessitating a coronary stent. For which honey and cider won't do diddly. Avoiding gluten does squat. Trailer park medicine: That's clopidogrel (plavix) apparently. Which had been prescribed to keep the stent from clogging up. Quitting it would have killed me. Quite irrespective of the benefits to my imaginary chakras and aura from doing chair yoga. Covid jab nano-chips: Do NOT take any advice from adherents of Republican conspiracy medical theories. And wear your damned mask.]
So anyhow, that recommended extra vaccine was the RSV jab. Per Wikipedia: "having chronic heart or lung disease is also a risk factor". Additionally, weakened immune systems, doddering old age, and being around infectious hippie-dippies who self-medicate with crap like honey and vinegar, with or without ginger and turmeric, also come into play.
And I'm glad I got it. Those people who advocate magic vinegar and honey, gluten avoidance, chair yoga, and similar feel-good nostrums should kindly shut up. And please swallow bucket loads of panchagavya, because it's potent juju and mighty spiritual. Thank you.
By the way: chiropractic and naturopathy are codswallop.
I'm priggishly pleased that I ignore all of that.
And I'm still alive, too.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
INFLAMMATORIES
In revisiting my childhood, one of the things that stands out is disease. No, not brainworms, which can turn a grown man, an assistant district attorney in Manhattan, for instance, into a gibbering paranoid loony, but perfectly pedestrian deadly diseases that before widespread vaccination affected most children. Measles, chicken pox, and mumps. Had measles twice. Currently nowhere near Texas, a state I'm avoiding like the plague because it's filled with trouble-making chowderheads. But just in case, I've asked my regular care physician to include an antibody check in my yearly series of bloodtests.
Avoiding Texas is everybody's first line of defense.
Sadly, Texas often comes to you.
Life is not that easy.
We're lucky that smallpox has been eradicated. Otherwise Texas would be ground zero.
JFK Jr. is spiritually a Texan, as any review of his qualifications will tell you.
He is the absolute paradigm of chowderheads.
Vaccine misinformation, public-health conspiracy theories, chemtrail conspiracy craziness, AIDS denialism, and the berserk assertion that vaccines cause autism. Besides being a "rehabilitated" long-time drug user, environmental nutball, and nutritional apocalyptic.
With a pet worm.
"Worm that got into my brain and ate a portion of it and then died."
The best that can be said about him is that he is gustatorily inquisitive and adventurous.
On the other hand, he seems to have a thing against caffeine.
Which on a personal level offends me.
Pity the worm died.
In any case, his nonsense about autism, AIDS, chemtrails, as well as his support for Donald Trump, are all utterly detestable and condemnable. He is therefore an exemplary Texan. The word 'mumps' originally meant grimacing, and whining, barking, or mumbling like a beggar or San Francisco street person due to painful swelling of salivary glands on both sides of the mouth, as well as testicular pain which often occurs.
In the case of most people it only lasts for a few weeks.
Not several years. Over two decades.
There's a vaccine against mumps. Have your children vaccinated.
Or they'll end up being spiritual Texans.
You wouldn't want that.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Avoiding Texas is everybody's first line of defense.
Sadly, Texas often comes to you.
Life is not that easy.
We're lucky that smallpox has been eradicated. Otherwise Texas would be ground zero.
JFK Jr. is spiritually a Texan, as any review of his qualifications will tell you.
He is the absolute paradigm of chowderheads.
Vaccine misinformation, public-health conspiracy theories, chemtrail conspiracy craziness, AIDS denialism, and the berserk assertion that vaccines cause autism. Besides being a "rehabilitated" long-time drug user, environmental nutball, and nutritional apocalyptic.
With a pet worm.
"Worm that got into my brain and ate a portion of it and then died."
The best that can be said about him is that he is gustatorily inquisitive and adventurous.
On the other hand, he seems to have a thing against caffeine.
Which on a personal level offends me.
Pity the worm died.
In any case, his nonsense about autism, AIDS, chemtrails, as well as his support for Donald Trump, are all utterly detestable and condemnable. He is therefore an exemplary Texan. The word 'mumps' originally meant grimacing, and whining, barking, or mumbling like a beggar or San Francisco street person due to painful swelling of salivary glands on both sides of the mouth, as well as testicular pain which often occurs.
In the case of most people it only lasts for a few weeks.
Not several years. Over two decades.
There's a vaccine against mumps. Have your children vaccinated.
Or they'll end up being spiritual Texans.
You wouldn't want that.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
THE CONDENSED MILK
For some bizarre reason I got up at seven o'clock, despite having gone to bed at around two and consequently having had only about five hours of sleep. My brain was filled with Sữa Ông Thọ. This pursuant an open can of condensed milk deep in the back of the refrigerator. My apartment mate uses condensed milk, but the can was not Sữa Ông Thọ, as that is not her preferred brand.
I was also remembering the Chinese Vietnamese restaurant on Geary Street that closed a few years ago. Exceptionally good food.
Okay, the bizarre reason was my bladder. I've emptied it several times this week already. Just before going to bed I did so again. Damned thing demanded an encore.
Probably a delayed result of last night's hot beverage.
It strikes me that the main reason why you never see burning Tesla cybertrucks in The South is that no African Americans drive them there. Yeah, parking your cybertruck at Waffle House, AND being black? In Alabama and Mississippi, that's just asking for trouble.
What the living heck were you thinking?
Driving a cybertruck in some states would be like driving something foreign.
It's like stirring up a hornets nest.
Besides, everybody knows that the only people to drive cybertrucks are just sexual deviants who live in the suburbs and deny god. Who habitually breakfast on foie gras ('fwah-grah") and drink wine. Why heck, they probably vote for communists ("kah-moon-iz")!
A number of my friends live in the Deep South ("dip-sath"). They are not miserable, in fact they're having a blast because they're so much smarter than almost everyone who lives close-by, and they can make those dummies twirl.
One of them habitually smokes Royal Yacht ("roll-yaht") in his pipes.
Which is kind of like driving a foreign vehicle.
And voting for communists.
No, I shall not ask her about the old can of condensed milk next to the hot chilipaste I never finished using. That would only open the gate to counter-questions about some of my antique condiments. She's calibrated the refrigerator temperature very precisely so that things freeze semisolid before they mold, and consequently stuff rarely goes bad. Probably because five years ago I got food-poisoning from my own leftovers, lordy we don't want that again.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
I was also remembering the Chinese Vietnamese restaurant on Geary Street that closed a few years ago. Exceptionally good food.
Okay, the bizarre reason was my bladder. I've emptied it several times this week already. Just before going to bed I did so again. Damned thing demanded an encore.
Probably a delayed result of last night's hot beverage.
It strikes me that the main reason why you never see burning Tesla cybertrucks in The South is that no African Americans drive them there. Yeah, parking your cybertruck at Waffle House, AND being black? In Alabama and Mississippi, that's just asking for trouble.
What the living heck were you thinking?
Driving a cybertruck in some states would be like driving something foreign.
It's like stirring up a hornets nest.
A number of my friends live in the Deep South ("dip-sath"). They are not miserable, in fact they're having a blast because they're so much smarter than almost everyone who lives close-by, and they can make those dummies twirl.
One of them habitually smokes Royal Yacht ("roll-yaht") in his pipes.
Which is kind of like driving a foreign vehicle.
And voting for communists.
No, I shall not ask her about the old can of condensed milk next to the hot chilipaste I never finished using. That would only open the gate to counter-questions about some of my antique condiments. She's calibrated the refrigerator temperature very precisely so that things freeze semisolid before they mold, and consequently stuff rarely goes bad. Probably because five years ago I got food-poisoning from my own leftovers, lordy we don't want that again.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
GOOD REASONS TO PLAY CRICKET
There are some remarkably skeevy types roaming the streets after dark. Not all of them are tourists passing through, some of them look they've been here too long. If I were a woman I should like to study krav maga or kickboxing just in case any of them become problematic. As a man I am of course a little taller, and much more likely to strike them fiercely with my stick. Maybe women should carry sticks too?
Or chainsaws. There would be far fewer problems in this world, guaranteed, if the feminine gender always had chainsaws at hand.
The bookseller arrived at the appointed time. We passed by the karaoke joint on the way to burgers. Crowds inside, ghastly sounds, and very evident misbehaviour. That, too, would be alleviated considerably by chainsaws.
In fact, I can think of any number of situations where a chainsaw would come in handy.
The beer place was too crowded afterwards, the karaoke joint sounded precisely like a bunch of blobbo sealions at the pier asserting themselves, and there were one or two stumblesome people on the way to the sanctuary which we headed towards.
Miss Vivian was on vacation, so a replacement was behind the bar.
Who already knew about my teabags. After two hot cups of tea and pipeful of Virginia flake (me), a pint of guiness and a glass of whiskey (the bookseller), the conversation naturally veered into discussing cricket. Which presently I sadly cannot play because my legs are a problem. Once I've had the peripheral angioplasties on the lower extremities done, I shall be much more athletic (hah!) but I still won't be able to play cricket because I don't know how. It apparently involves running, wickets, Parsees, and cucumber sandwiches in the pavilion.
That last actually sounds rather nice.
Personally, I would suggest that cream cheese and capers are necessary inclusions for the cucumber sandwiches, and use toasted sourdough bread. But that's just me, and I don't play cricket, so it's probably heretical. The classic English cucumber sandwich consists of raw sliced white bread with butter, thinly cut cucumber, salt and pepper.
The Australians undoubtedly add Vegemite.
My friend the bookseller mentioned a grilled eggplant on focaccia, one of his favourite suppers at a local place near his house. Apparently there is no dignified way to eat that. It becomes messy. My own experience is the meatball on focaccia sandwich there, which is also deliciously messy. That may have something to do with why we don't play cricket.
Cucumbers with dry salami and spicy mustard. Also nice.
I fondly recall that from several years ago.
Remember to toast the bread.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Or chainsaws. There would be far fewer problems in this world, guaranteed, if the feminine gender always had chainsaws at hand.
The bookseller arrived at the appointed time. We passed by the karaoke joint on the way to burgers. Crowds inside, ghastly sounds, and very evident misbehaviour. That, too, would be alleviated considerably by chainsaws.
In fact, I can think of any number of situations where a chainsaw would come in handy.
The beer place was too crowded afterwards, the karaoke joint sounded precisely like a bunch of blobbo sealions at the pier asserting themselves, and there were one or two stumblesome people on the way to the sanctuary which we headed towards.
Miss Vivian was on vacation, so a replacement was behind the bar.
Who already knew about my teabags. After two hot cups of tea and pipeful of Virginia flake (me), a pint of guiness and a glass of whiskey (the bookseller), the conversation naturally veered into discussing cricket. Which presently I sadly cannot play because my legs are a problem. Once I've had the peripheral angioplasties on the lower extremities done, I shall be much more athletic (hah!) but I still won't be able to play cricket because I don't know how. It apparently involves running, wickets, Parsees, and cucumber sandwiches in the pavilion.
That last actually sounds rather nice.
Personally, I would suggest that cream cheese and capers are necessary inclusions for the cucumber sandwiches, and use toasted sourdough bread. But that's just me, and I don't play cricket, so it's probably heretical. The classic English cucumber sandwich consists of raw sliced white bread with butter, thinly cut cucumber, salt and pepper.
The Australians undoubtedly add Vegemite.
My friend the bookseller mentioned a grilled eggplant on focaccia, one of his favourite suppers at a local place near his house. Apparently there is no dignified way to eat that. It becomes messy. My own experience is the meatball on focaccia sandwich there, which is also deliciously messy. That may have something to do with why we don't play cricket.
Cucumbers with dry salami and spicy mustard. Also nice.
I fondly recall that from several years ago.
Remember to toast the bread.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, August 05, 2025
THE UNHAPPY MOLLUSCS
It's fascinating in how it manifests itself, but aesthetically quite boring. Unless frightful skin rashes excite you intellectually, which, if you were on the spectrum is definitely possible.
I am, but it ain't pretty. Perhaps as a nougat or caramel candy.
Sadly, there are no appealing visuals of the virus itself that I can reference and riff off of. It's dull and ugly to me, despite resembling a microscopic bonbon in its last moments of singularity and wholeness.
It's one of over one hundred and thirty known orthoherpesviradae, nine of which can infect humans. Some others affect other mammals, birds, reptiles, and, surprisingly, molluscs.
Sick molluscs? I was not aware. Sorry. Get better, little blob, get well soon.
CHICKENPOX
Varicella zoster virus (human herpesvirus 3, VZV), is one of nine herpes viruses that are species-specific to humans, causing chickenpox and shingles. It multiplies in the tonsils, then causes lesions on the skin which look quite frightening, lasting a few days before rupturing and disappearing. Then it goes dormant in the nervous system including the cranial nerve ganglia, trigeminal and dorsal root ganglia, and autonomic ganglia.
Several years later VZV can reactivate and cause shingles. Shingles can be quite horribly unpleasant and debilitating, especially if it persists for several weeks (or months). So getting the shingles vaccine is well worth it, except if you are an antivax idiot, in which case by all means don't.
The concept of a mollusc infected with a herpes virus sits in my head.
It saddens me. Poor helpless little blob, running a fever.
Don't worry, little fella, it will be over soon.
Of course you'll have to stay home from school for a few weeks. You're probably still infectious even though there are no more symptoms and you feel full of beans.
Reye's syndrome (associated with chickenpox but also influenze and other viral infections) may occur afterwards, causing brain dysfunction, repetitive vomiting, drowsiness, confusion, seizures, sometimes severe behavioural issues, diarrhœa, and possible liver damage.
It can result in death or coma. Salicylate (aspirin) heightens risk. It is rare.
Note that that got me looking up mannitol used medicinally. Which is fascinating early morning reading. Side effects may include heart failure and kidney problems.
It pulls fluid from the brain and eyes.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
I am, but it ain't pretty. Perhaps as a nougat or caramel candy.
Sadly, there are no appealing visuals of the virus itself that I can reference and riff off of. It's dull and ugly to me, despite resembling a microscopic bonbon in its last moments of singularity and wholeness.
It's one of over one hundred and thirty known orthoherpesviradae, nine of which can infect humans. Some others affect other mammals, birds, reptiles, and, surprisingly, molluscs.
Sick molluscs? I was not aware. Sorry. Get better, little blob, get well soon.
CHICKENPOX
Varicella zoster virus (human herpesvirus 3, VZV), is one of nine herpes viruses that are species-specific to humans, causing chickenpox and shingles. It multiplies in the tonsils, then causes lesions on the skin which look quite frightening, lasting a few days before rupturing and disappearing. Then it goes dormant in the nervous system including the cranial nerve ganglia, trigeminal and dorsal root ganglia, and autonomic ganglia.
Several years later VZV can reactivate and cause shingles. Shingles can be quite horribly unpleasant and debilitating, especially if it persists for several weeks (or months). So getting the shingles vaccine is well worth it, except if you are an antivax idiot, in which case by all means don't.
The concept of a mollusc infected with a herpes virus sits in my head.
It saddens me. Poor helpless little blob, running a fever.
Don't worry, little fella, it will be over soon.
Of course you'll have to stay home from school for a few weeks. You're probably still infectious even though there are no more symptoms and you feel full of beans.
Reye's syndrome (associated with chickenpox but also influenze and other viral infections) may occur afterwards, causing brain dysfunction, repetitive vomiting, drowsiness, confusion, seizures, sometimes severe behavioural issues, diarrhœa, and possible liver damage.
It can result in death or coma. Salicylate (aspirin) heightens risk. It is rare.
Note that that got me looking up mannitol used medicinally. Which is fascinating early morning reading. Side effects may include heart failure and kidney problems.
It pulls fluid from the brain and eyes.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Monday, August 04, 2025
THE WISDOM OF THE ANCIENTS
Something overheardon the bus today made me consider diseases, mortality, and the short distance between springy youthfulness and verlepte krakelige old age. "He was so young, only forty six. They found him in his yurt one day. Such a loss! A brilliant architect!" He had been a non-member of several congregations. Maybe when the non-brilliant snuff it, it doesn't matter how old they are. And likely it's not such a loss.
Leastways, not considered as such.
So of course I shan't mention my own age.
Years ago someone surnamed Patel blithely told me that it was just impossible for Indians to get Aids. That was something only white people got, Indians were much better.
Clean people, protected by the gods and their caste.
A person from the Deep South once informed me in all seriousness that good Christians absolutely would not catch diseases that they couldn't pronounce.
The huge number of deaths and hospitalizations in the southern states during the pandemic are probably because of all those confederate heathens, eh? In the first years of Covid Indian politicians and holy men went on record as recommending panchagavya to cure the disease. A miraculous remedy, blessed, and part of the priceless spiritual heritage of the subcontinent.
Panchagavya is made by combining milk, dung, urine, curds, and ghee, and letting the mixture ferment a bit. It can then be used to treat several ailments, including cancer, liver toxicity, bodily impurities, and brittle hair. Additionally it strengthens immunity, realigns the psyche. May cause leptospirosis, and counter-act all accusations of sane behaviour.
[Leptospirosis is a blood infection that leads to headaches, muscle pains, fever jaundice, possible kidney failure, and, not infrequently, severe pulmonary haemorrhage.]
Panchagavya has been used as therapy against AIDS. Of which there are about four million cases in India, possibly quite a bit more. The jury on it's effectiveness is still out, however, as numerous religious nuts hold positions of power at the state and local level there.
It is precisely as effective against Covid as hydroxychloroquine and ivermectin, and considerably cheaper. Southerners and Christians, take note.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Leastways, not considered as such.
So of course I shan't mention my own age.
Years ago someone surnamed Patel blithely told me that it was just impossible for Indians to get Aids. That was something only white people got, Indians were much better.
Clean people, protected by the gods and their caste.
A person from the Deep South once informed me in all seriousness that good Christians absolutely would not catch diseases that they couldn't pronounce.
The huge number of deaths and hospitalizations in the southern states during the pandemic are probably because of all those confederate heathens, eh? In the first years of Covid Indian politicians and holy men went on record as recommending panchagavya to cure the disease. A miraculous remedy, blessed, and part of the priceless spiritual heritage of the subcontinent.
Panchagavya is made by combining milk, dung, urine, curds, and ghee, and letting the mixture ferment a bit. It can then be used to treat several ailments, including cancer, liver toxicity, bodily impurities, and brittle hair. Additionally it strengthens immunity, realigns the psyche. May cause leptospirosis, and counter-act all accusations of sane behaviour.
[Leptospirosis is a blood infection that leads to headaches, muscle pains, fever jaundice, possible kidney failure, and, not infrequently, severe pulmonary haemorrhage.]
Panchagavya has been used as therapy against AIDS. Of which there are about four million cases in India, possibly quite a bit more. The jury on it's effectiveness is still out, however, as numerous religious nuts hold positions of power at the state and local level there.
It is precisely as effective against Covid as hydroxychloroquine and ivermectin, and considerably cheaper. Southerners and Christians, take note.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
CONTAGIUM VIVUM FLUIDUM
Martinus Willem Beijerinck (1851 – 1931) is credited with the co-discovery of viruses in 1898, which he called by the lovely Latin appellation which entitles this post. Our current president would, naturally, probably fire him from the Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences because he doesn't want to hear about that. Good thing they're in a different country (maybe our 52nd state ?) so he cannot, at this time, actually do that.
Our current president is largely responsible for the fact that the United States had higher rates of Covid 19 infections and deaths than most other countries, because he and his henchcrowd believed the the virus was only hitting blue states and disproportionately killing Black Americans so it could be weaponized. Which many (most) Republicans gleefully accepted.
Jared Kushner is widely credited for that theory.
I'm not quite sure who came up with the batshit idea that hydroxychloroquine and ivermectin cured Covid, or that in addiction to gargling with bleach one should stick a lightbulb up one's nether region and enlighten the bowels as a preventative measure, but I'm fairly certain it was someone in Texas. It doesn't matter.
We currently have a Republican anti-science dingbat as Secretary of Health and Human Services, so when there's another deadly pandemic, we'll probably be told to swill apple cider vinegar and brake fluid prophylactically, and Paula White will ask you to send money for prayers surely that will help.
See, none of this would be possible without the brilliant scientific insights of an eccentric Dutch viroligist, who was probably a Democrat to boot. Just remember that.
If your Tesla Cybertruck goes up in flames, it's all because of him. As well as the liberals who want to overrun the country with communist Kenyan marxists from Mexico and steal your job at the pedophile bank conglomerate, damn them all.
You heard it here first.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Jared Kushner is widely credited for that theory.
I'm not quite sure who came up with the batshit idea that hydroxychloroquine and ivermectin cured Covid, or that in addiction to gargling with bleach one should stick a lightbulb up one's nether region and enlighten the bowels as a preventative measure, but I'm fairly certain it was someone in Texas. It doesn't matter.
We currently have a Republican anti-science dingbat as Secretary of Health and Human Services, so when there's another deadly pandemic, we'll probably be told to swill apple cider vinegar and brake fluid prophylactically, and Paula White will ask you to send money for prayers surely that will help.
See, none of this would be possible without the brilliant scientific insights of an eccentric Dutch viroligist, who was probably a Democrat to boot. Just remember that.
If your Tesla Cybertruck goes up in flames, it's all because of him. As well as the liberals who want to overrun the country with communist Kenyan marxists from Mexico and steal your job at the pedophile bank conglomerate, damn them all.
You heard it here first.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
TUMBRELS
A tumbrel is a two-wheeled cart most famously employed to transport prisoners to the guillotine during the French revolution. At it's destination, it would be tipped so that the priviledged class running dogs would tumble out. Very useful. I suspect they'll be coming back. Related thereto, I now hardly ever talk to the Irishman (he's a hate-filled maga loon), the bald degenerate troll (off his rocker and vicious, also maga), the retired judicial person (whiny magaite apologist and mean-spirited). The techno pimp, yes, as he's got enough of a sense of humour and is human enough to be okay.
Walther, Charles, and the neurosurgeon also. Human, humanists, sound brains, and not members of a cult.
But you know, there's no percentage in talking to the other side, really. Just line them up and shoot them at some point. Which, given how the Republicans are raping the country, is becoming an ever more likely occurence.
When I got back to my neighborhood yesterday evening there was a wank-panzer parked on my block. Surprisingly, it hadn't been vandalized yet. Probably because it was still light out.
Naturally, as a socially conscious person, I do NOT advocate torching Teslas. It would be horribly polluting, number one, and Kristi Noem will want your balls if you do. Plus there might be witnesses, and no one actually in the vehicle. So it's bad. And far be it from me to think in terms of burning the entire damned factory down as well as the State of Texas, OR guillotining members of the government and the Republican Party.
Or, if you're vegan, pelting them to death with tofu.
None of that. I am a peaceful man.
Om, shanti shanti, om.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Walther, Charles, and the neurosurgeon also. Human, humanists, sound brains, and not members of a cult.
But you know, there's no percentage in talking to the other side, really. Just line them up and shoot them at some point. Which, given how the Republicans are raping the country, is becoming an ever more likely occurence.
When I got back to my neighborhood yesterday evening there was a wank-panzer parked on my block. Surprisingly, it hadn't been vandalized yet. Probably because it was still light out.
Naturally, as a socially conscious person, I do NOT advocate torching Teslas. It would be horribly polluting, number one, and Kristi Noem will want your balls if you do. Plus there might be witnesses, and no one actually in the vehicle. So it's bad. And far be it from me to think in terms of burning the entire damned factory down as well as the State of Texas, OR guillotining members of the government and the Republican Party.
Or, if you're vegan, pelting them to death with tofu.
None of that. I am a peaceful man.
Om, shanti shanti, om.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Sunday, August 03, 2025
PROGRESS REPORT
A brilliant idea for a teevee show: people running toward the surf in slow motion wearing colourful scanty swim togs, followed by twenty minutes of over the top violence during which the monster just won't die. One of the characters is an irritating woman much like Elaine in Seinfeld. And sort of a New York vibe.
See, the slo-mo swimtogs are for the Europeans. They go for that.
Everything else is for young American urbanites.
Sort of Reservoir Dogs meets valley girls.
Broke Back Mountain Karens.
Got the idea while smoking a bowl of Edgeworth slices. While recovering from my right leg being a complete monster and colouring my peripheral vision red and glowing with pulsating in dark blue neon. I had left the house ten minutes earlier than usual to be sure of catching the bus. Necessitated by my limping like an elderly cripple due to that aforementioned leg. The problem being in the foot, where the big toe joins the rest of the body. Which caused everything from there on up to be problematic.
Kind of the slo-mo thing made flesh.
I have discovered that the best way to recover from the leg being a right bitch is to take off your shoes (they aren't flexible enough for suffering feet), smoke your pipe all day, and spend as much time as possible sitting at the buffing wheel and swilling tea. I highly recommend it. All hospitals that deal with crusty old fossils need to have a room with ashtrays and buffing wheels for cleaning up their smoking equipment. Even Karens might benefit. Especially if the hospital or clinic also stocks Edgeworth Slices, which has not actually been in production for over two decades. Very therapeutic. Good stuff.
I need to mention this to my doctor. I'm sure she'll see the merits immediately.
It's an idea with great benefit. Folks at the clinic are sure to agree.
My heavens I'm brilliant.
Dinner when I got home was two pineapple cakes (鳳梨酥 'fung lei sou'), because once I had sat down with my coffee I didn't want to get up onto my feet again and cook.
Recovery is still ongoing, not finished yet.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
See, the slo-mo swimtogs are for the Europeans. They go for that.
Everything else is for young American urbanites.
Sort of Reservoir Dogs meets valley girls.
Broke Back Mountain Karens.
Got the idea while smoking a bowl of Edgeworth slices. While recovering from my right leg being a complete monster and colouring my peripheral vision red and glowing with pulsating in dark blue neon. I had left the house ten minutes earlier than usual to be sure of catching the bus. Necessitated by my limping like an elderly cripple due to that aforementioned leg. The problem being in the foot, where the big toe joins the rest of the body. Which caused everything from there on up to be problematic.
Kind of the slo-mo thing made flesh.
I have discovered that the best way to recover from the leg being a right bitch is to take off your shoes (they aren't flexible enough for suffering feet), smoke your pipe all day, and spend as much time as possible sitting at the buffing wheel and swilling tea. I highly recommend it. All hospitals that deal with crusty old fossils need to have a room with ashtrays and buffing wheels for cleaning up their smoking equipment. Even Karens might benefit. Especially if the hospital or clinic also stocks Edgeworth Slices, which has not actually been in production for over two decades. Very therapeutic. Good stuff.
I need to mention this to my doctor. I'm sure she'll see the merits immediately.
It's an idea with great benefit. Folks at the clinic are sure to agree.
My heavens I'm brilliant.
Dinner when I got home was two pineapple cakes (鳳梨酥 'fung lei sou'), because once I had sat down with my coffee I didn't want to get up onto my feet again and cook.
Recovery is still ongoing, not finished yet.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
FEEDING THE WILD ANIMALS
Lunch had been a carnitas burrito no beans, picante. My coworker got an al pastor burrito, picante. My coworker has a problem with irritable bowel syndrome. But he likes flavour, and we work in the middle of a small gustatory dessert. So I didn't say anything. Lunch was very enjoyable. But there was an aftermath, which fortunately I do not know much about.
I wouldn't be surprised if his wife calls today to ask me what I was thinking.
I am sorry, ma'am, but both of us like flavour.
And he is an adult. Yes?
I credit my long life to clean living, hot chilies, and buckets of tea.
You know, the happy stuff. Plus pipe tobacco.
If I had a wife or helpmeet, she would probably not call me up to ask me what I was thinking. Probably because she would understand that, while I am at work, I don't have time for that, and in any case I'm wired to the eyebrows on caffeine from the tea while on the job and therefore, almost necessarily, strange things must happen. The burrito joint is closed on Sundays. Which is sad. Convenience store sandwiches just don't cut it. And their pizza is the stuff of nightmares. Perhaps I mentioned the term "gustatory dessert"?
It's not a question of nutritional benefits, but flavour.
Which in the suburban world is a toughie.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
I wouldn't be surprised if his wife calls today to ask me what I was thinking.
I am sorry, ma'am, but both of us like flavour.
And he is an adult. Yes?
I credit my long life to clean living, hot chilies, and buckets of tea.
You know, the happy stuff. Plus pipe tobacco.
If I had a wife or helpmeet, she would probably not call me up to ask me what I was thinking. Probably because she would understand that, while I am at work, I don't have time for that, and in any case I'm wired to the eyebrows on caffeine from the tea while on the job and therefore, almost necessarily, strange things must happen. The burrito joint is closed on Sundays. Which is sad. Convenience store sandwiches just don't cut it. And their pizza is the stuff of nightmares. Perhaps I mentioned the term "gustatory dessert"?
It's not a question of nutritional benefits, but flavour.
Which in the suburban world is a toughie.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Saturday, August 02, 2025
AN ANGRY LIMB
So for most of the week my right leg has felt like it belonged to a daemon tormenting me.
To the point that yesterday by mid-day it was unbearable. Of course I bore it. No choice. Damned thing is part of me.
The question "how are you today?" necessarily means the answer "I can't complain". Even if I actually can. Did I mention my right leg? What I actually mean is that I won't complain, as it won't do any good. You cannot do anything about it, complaining will not solve the problem, and the leg will continue to be an issue.
One of the regulars asked me if my gout was bothering me again. Gout sounds impressive. Classy. An excess of oysters and rich meats. Plus port, pastries, and expensive cigars.
This is pedestrian. Merely poor circulation in the area where the big toe joins the rest of the foot, which was irritated or strained or something. Various aches communicated to the ankle and calf by what I will call "nerve sympathy", meaning that there is more than enough pain there to go around, and consequently body parts not immediately affected start hurting also, till by the end of the day everything between the floor and hip on that side has become a royal pain in the ...
I was profoundly aware of the irresponsibility of my youthful lifestyle.
Mistakes were made. Should have been more serious.
Kids in hot countries weren't as lucky. My spirit animal is an old coot rolling around in his wheelchair because he is in pain, nurse Ratched swears at him, and the staff forbid him from lighting his pipe within the confines of the assisted living facility. Instead, they direct him to the nearest municipal garbage dump to commune with the rabid bums and coyotes there, become one with bestial nature. Stink at will, you old lizard. Far away. Yeah, we're not going to push you. Your arms are still good.
One problem is that my apartment mate, despite having many fine qualities, is a complete non-smoker, and consequently tobacco must be enjoyed outside the premises. The upside is that, being quite severely Aspy, she won't have a clue that I'm in pain unless I say something, so I won't have to politely turn down sympathy, attempts to alleviate the throbbing or helpful suggestions to that end. Can she do something for me? No, no she can't. But thank you.
And let's not talk about it. I'm fine, really, fine. Can't complain.
Grumble grumble. Damned leg. Grumble, grumble.
By the way: there is no such thing as unbearable pain if there is no other choice.
This morning it was somewhat better. Smoked a Charatan Prince. Mid-day it was much much better. Dunhill shellbriar bent bulldog ("Rhodesian"). By teatime a hundred times worse. Amphora (E. Gubbels BV) straight bulldog, smooth with a walnut stain.
The ride home on the bus this evening was surreal.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
To the point that yesterday by mid-day it was unbearable. Of course I bore it. No choice. Damned thing is part of me.
The question "how are you today?" necessarily means the answer "I can't complain". Even if I actually can. Did I mention my right leg? What I actually mean is that I won't complain, as it won't do any good. You cannot do anything about it, complaining will not solve the problem, and the leg will continue to be an issue.
One of the regulars asked me if my gout was bothering me again. Gout sounds impressive. Classy. An excess of oysters and rich meats. Plus port, pastries, and expensive cigars.
This is pedestrian. Merely poor circulation in the area where the big toe joins the rest of the foot, which was irritated or strained or something. Various aches communicated to the ankle and calf by what I will call "nerve sympathy", meaning that there is more than enough pain there to go around, and consequently body parts not immediately affected start hurting also, till by the end of the day everything between the floor and hip on that side has become a royal pain in the ...
I was profoundly aware of the irresponsibility of my youthful lifestyle.
Mistakes were made. Should have been more serious.
Kids in hot countries weren't as lucky. My spirit animal is an old coot rolling around in his wheelchair because he is in pain, nurse Ratched swears at him, and the staff forbid him from lighting his pipe within the confines of the assisted living facility. Instead, they direct him to the nearest municipal garbage dump to commune with the rabid bums and coyotes there, become one with bestial nature. Stink at will, you old lizard. Far away. Yeah, we're not going to push you. Your arms are still good.
One problem is that my apartment mate, despite having many fine qualities, is a complete non-smoker, and consequently tobacco must be enjoyed outside the premises. The upside is that, being quite severely Aspy, she won't have a clue that I'm in pain unless I say something, so I won't have to politely turn down sympathy, attempts to alleviate the throbbing or helpful suggestions to that end. Can she do something for me? No, no she can't. But thank you.
And let's not talk about it. I'm fine, really, fine. Can't complain.
Grumble grumble. Damned leg. Grumble, grumble.
By the way: there is no such thing as unbearable pain if there is no other choice.
This morning it was somewhat better. Smoked a Charatan Prince. Mid-day it was much much better. Dunhill shellbriar bent bulldog ("Rhodesian"). By teatime a hundred times worse. Amphora (E. Gubbels BV) straight bulldog, smooth with a walnut stain.
The ride home on the bus this evening was surreal.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Friday, August 01, 2025
RABBIT RABBIT AUGUST 2025
Rabbit rabbit. This blogger is looking forward to Dave's monthly illustration of rabbits getting jacked on coffee, and Sid and Kristen posting photos of their rabbits.
All of them have different appeal. Dave's look like they're staving off existential dread in coffee shops that keep some customers away by playing both heavy metal and experiment jazz, Sid and Kristen's leporids seem like they need a cat tree. Only just a little bit more horizontal.
Es ist eine komplete gestalt sache. This blogger is baffled as to why when I typed 'leporid' into my search bar I ended up with 'total bowel release, proven results, official website' and 'booking dot com'. Yeah, okay, how do those relate? And does A.I. want me to check into a spa or luxury hotel for a pooh fest? Just how much money does A.I. think I have? Surely I can pooh all I want at home?
Is anything wrong with that?
I am hideously upset that A.I. is concerned with my pooh situation. Do they not realize by now that I am not like other Americans, AND this computer user is in California where we don't eat fried crap morning noon and night?
We have more bicycles in this state than personal mobility scooters.
Unlike Alabama, Louisiana, and Mississippi.
And unlike numerous celebrities in Deep Southern places, very few people here spend their waking hours in hammocks, on the couch, or lazing in the porch swing drinking gallons of sweet ice tea while washing down the boiled peanuts and cheetos.
It's a deliberate lifestyle choice.
Rabbit rabbit.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
All of them have different appeal. Dave's look like they're staving off existential dread in coffee shops that keep some customers away by playing both heavy metal and experiment jazz, Sid and Kristen's leporids seem like they need a cat tree. Only just a little bit more horizontal.
Es ist eine komplete gestalt sache. This blogger is baffled as to why when I typed 'leporid' into my search bar I ended up with 'total bowel release, proven results, official website' and 'booking dot com'. Yeah, okay, how do those relate? And does A.I. want me to check into a spa or luxury hotel for a pooh fest? Just how much money does A.I. think I have? Surely I can pooh all I want at home?
Is anything wrong with that?
I am hideously upset that A.I. is concerned with my pooh situation. Do they not realize by now that I am not like other Americans, AND this computer user is in California where we don't eat fried crap morning noon and night?
We have more bicycles in this state than personal mobility scooters.
Unlike Alabama, Louisiana, and Mississippi.
And unlike numerous celebrities in Deep Southern places, very few people here spend their waking hours in hammocks, on the couch, or lazing in the porch swing drinking gallons of sweet ice tea while washing down the boiled peanuts and cheetos.
It's a deliberate lifestyle choice.
Rabbit rabbit.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Thursday, July 31, 2025
STILL DOING THAT
Years ago after my girlfriend and I broke up I started hanging out in Chinatown more. It's close to where I live and as good a way of getting away from it all as any, and seeing as besides speaking fluent Dutch I also speak Cantonese and German, albeit badly, it feels comfortable. No, speaking Dutch and German actually doesn't help in any way.
Except when I express existential despair or talk about philosophy.
After a while I realized that it also helped me recover from job-exposure to the neo-fascists in the suburbs. None of whom dare to visit Chinatown because there are people there.
When Covid hit, it was the nearest environment where folks wore their masks, and where one could buy rice stick noodles, bitter melon, chilipaste, and fatty pork.
Plus my doctor, the clinic, and the pharmacy are there. Like rice stick noodles, bitter melon, chilipaste, and fatty pork, that also was incredibly conducive to mental and physical survival. Well, pipesmoking too, and I should mention, pursuant thereto, that all Chinese people either have relatives who still smoke, or are that relative. So they're far less likely to throw a temper tantrum at someone visibly enjoying tobacco half a block away than folks in Berkeley, or in fact say anything at all. Unlike Anglos, they mind their own damned business. And one additional factor, which should absolutely not be overlooked, as that there are no fast-food franchises in that neighborhood. That, too, lowers the number of objectionables. Even pizza is hard to find unless you're at that one place that has 披薩 ('pei saat') on the menu. Which we're not going to mention, because I don't want to encourage outsiders.
I tend to be a loner, and I can do that there.
It's also where I acquired many of the stuffed animals that keep me and my antisocial apartment mate from wigging out entirely.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Except when I express existential despair or talk about philosophy.
After a while I realized that it also helped me recover from job-exposure to the neo-fascists in the suburbs. None of whom dare to visit Chinatown because there are people there.
When Covid hit, it was the nearest environment where folks wore their masks, and where one could buy rice stick noodles, bitter melon, chilipaste, and fatty pork.
Plus my doctor, the clinic, and the pharmacy are there. Like rice stick noodles, bitter melon, chilipaste, and fatty pork, that also was incredibly conducive to mental and physical survival. Well, pipesmoking too, and I should mention, pursuant thereto, that all Chinese people either have relatives who still smoke, or are that relative. So they're far less likely to throw a temper tantrum at someone visibly enjoying tobacco half a block away than folks in Berkeley, or in fact say anything at all. Unlike Anglos, they mind their own damned business. And one additional factor, which should absolutely not be overlooked, as that there are no fast-food franchises in that neighborhood. That, too, lowers the number of objectionables. Even pizza is hard to find unless you're at that one place that has 披薩 ('pei saat') on the menu. Which we're not going to mention, because I don't want to encourage outsiders.
I tend to be a loner, and I can do that there.
It's also where I acquired many of the stuffed animals that keep me and my antisocial apartment mate from wigging out entirely.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
DABBLING IN DICTIONARIES
Occasionally I explore the volumes at my disposal, sometimes with a purpose in mind. And, as you perhaps know, I have a fondness for dictionaries. This quite probably started when my father gave me a dictionary of the English language, very likely because I kept mispronouncing many of the words I had learned from reading -- as a child I taught myself how to read in English, because we had vastly more books in that language in the house than Dutch, and I had already done every single Dutch book we had in the house including an Indonesian cookbook -- and I discovered the foreign language dictionaries on the bookshelves in the upstairs living room.
Come si dice "nasi goreng" in italiano?
Among my many dictionaries are a number which give the Chinese seal-script versions of the characters. Seal-script developed when they were still using a stylus to engave or carve the language on bamboo slats before the development of paper and flexible brushes, and often tends toward a stiffness and emblematic quality. It is still in limited use. Seals. Inscriptions. Also sometimes colophons, couplets, artistic calligraphies.
Two examples of my own calligraphy: Not the classical language, nor any deeply meaningful statements. Merely the titles of two recent illustrations rendered in seal-script as a literary fancy for my own amusement.
Google images thinks there is a tripod there. There isn't. No tripod is mentioned at all. Google images is sometimes wonderful, sometimes entirely wrong.
Nasi goreng is probably "riso fritto in stile indonesiano".
In case you were wondering. Very possible.
It can be quite delicious.
Requires sambal.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Come si dice "nasi goreng" in italiano?
Among my many dictionaries are a number which give the Chinese seal-script versions of the characters. Seal-script developed when they were still using a stylus to engave or carve the language on bamboo slats before the development of paper and flexible brushes, and often tends toward a stiffness and emblematic quality. It is still in limited use. Seals. Inscriptions. Also sometimes colophons, couplets, artistic calligraphies.
Two examples of my own calligraphy: Not the classical language, nor any deeply meaningful statements. Merely the titles of two recent illustrations rendered in seal-script as a literary fancy for my own amusement.
Google images thinks there is a tripod there. There isn't. No tripod is mentioned at all. Google images is sometimes wonderful, sometimes entirely wrong.
Nasi goreng is probably "riso fritto in stile indonesiano".
In case you were wondering. Very possible.
It can be quite delicious.
Requires sambal.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
DON'T GO THERE
A medical student on my Facebook posted someone else's off-kilter remark about the AZ jab, which inevitably had me reading up on the individual cited. Who, it appears, is a total nutball muckracker and I shan't mention the name that person because you do not need to go there. The anti-vax loons love her. The medical student quoted her word-belch without a comment. Which was very diplomatic of him. Rest assured that he's rational, however, and does not subscribe to the anti-scientific foolishness that so many do. He can't.
The reason why he's alive is standard medicine.
Several people with whom I have to deal because of work refuse to accept the fact that they too are alive because of standard medicine. Like many such people they have blind spots. I'm still waiting for one of them to die of lockjaw. Which will happen. Because they're idiots.
I might be retired by then. But I'll come back just to gloat.
Heck, if any of them die or are hospitalized because something that could be prevented by not being a total magaite qanon loon, I will gloat. Celebration time, baby.
If RFK Jr. croaks of something like that, I will also gloat.
Deservedly.
As a liberal, I'm all in favour of legalized freedom of speech and being able to put out any and all ridiculous unfounded opinions, as for instance our president and his people regularely do, but far too many folks out there are gullible dunderheads without any critical thinking skills or, in fact, the ability to read. The dense undergrowth is filled with morons swilling antiparasitics, hydroxychloroquine, and diluted bleach. Too many Republicans had multiple parasitic infections anyway, and if they're dead now they don't. You can't catch anything if you don't breathe.
Double the dose, boys, it works faster that way.
Same goes for the folks treating their ailments with apple cider vinegar, manuka honey, green tea extracts, and turmeric. Triple doses! Good!
Crystals and planetary alignments?
Avoiding gluten? De-toxing?
Copper bracelets?
Upon due consideration and weighing all the evidence, I'd advise them to go for it.
They should by all means go ahead and knock themselves out.
BTW: You don't need a yoni to use a yoni egg.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
The reason why he's alive is standard medicine.
Several people with whom I have to deal because of work refuse to accept the fact that they too are alive because of standard medicine. Like many such people they have blind spots. I'm still waiting for one of them to die of lockjaw. Which will happen. Because they're idiots.
I might be retired by then. But I'll come back just to gloat.
Heck, if any of them die or are hospitalized because something that could be prevented by not being a total magaite qanon loon, I will gloat. Celebration time, baby.
If RFK Jr. croaks of something like that, I will also gloat.
Deservedly.
As a liberal, I'm all in favour of legalized freedom of speech and being able to put out any and all ridiculous unfounded opinions, as for instance our president and his people regularely do, but far too many folks out there are gullible dunderheads without any critical thinking skills or, in fact, the ability to read. The dense undergrowth is filled with morons swilling antiparasitics, hydroxychloroquine, and diluted bleach. Too many Republicans had multiple parasitic infections anyway, and if they're dead now they don't. You can't catch anything if you don't breathe.
Double the dose, boys, it works faster that way.
Same goes for the folks treating their ailments with apple cider vinegar, manuka honey, green tea extracts, and turmeric. Triple doses! Good!
Crystals and planetary alignments?
Avoiding gluten? De-toxing?
Copper bracelets?
Upon due consideration and weighing all the evidence, I'd advise them to go for it.
They should by all means go ahead and knock themselves out.
BTW: You don't need a yoni to use a yoni egg.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, July 30, 2025
FINELY HONED CONVERSATIONAL SKILLS
As I usually do on Wednesdays, I hastened down to Chinatown, for lunch at the place where I almost always go (on Wednesdays) before they closed. They do breakfast and lunch, not dinner. Obviously I like the place. I've been going there for years. I used to get the porkchop, then I started having the baked sole. In the past several months I've been branching out. Their fish sandwich with fries is good.
And hotsauce, of course. I'm a man of habit; everything goes with hot sauce.
Porkchop, baked sole, chicken curry, fish sandwich. Fries.
They know that by now and bring it.
Weird kwailo? Hot sauce!
A smoke afterwards, plus errands and shopping then off to the bakery for a cup of milk tea and a snackiepoo. Where I arrived shortly after four o'clock, which is as you know universally teatime. Soon the two elderly Chinese American gentlemen I often chat with got there too.
They are still spry and active. Although sometimes I do wonder about what goes on in their heads. Not that they're losing it, in any way, but the older one gets the more obsessive and sometimes oddly focused one can often become. You may have noticed that about me, for instance. Since I turned into an adult a few years (decades) ago I've become a little more gibberant.
So I got to listen to two ninety year-olds for half an hour talking about underpants.
It's a truly fascinating subject, which entrances the finest minds.
I still don't know which they prefer.
Boxers. Or briefs.
It's probably a good thing that the ladies who work there AND the few other regulars present at that time are not English-fluent, or they would have wondered how seriously nuts you have to be to act fully American. Do you have to talk about underwear? Do all Americans complain that their nether garments are getting so see-through from wear and washing that they dry in minutes? You mentioned the place around the corner as a source, but too expensive; as far as anybody knows they sell panties and bras. So what, exactly, where you looking at?
Did it have a Hello Kitty motif, and if so, why didn't that tip you off?
Thirty minutes about underwear.
And plans to buy it.
So sorry, but I nearly fell asleep twice while that was going on.
Despite the cup of strong milk tea.
I have NO intention at all of doing any research and browsing at the shop around the corner.
I have passed it many times, and laud them for their fabulous selection of bras, panties, bikini briefs, French cuts, high cuts, "boy shorts", grannies, and Hello Kitties. And possibly also thongs, but I don't know.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
And hotsauce, of course. I'm a man of habit; everything goes with hot sauce.
Porkchop, baked sole, chicken curry, fish sandwich. Fries.
They know that by now and bring it.
Weird kwailo? Hot sauce!
A smoke afterwards, plus errands and shopping then off to the bakery for a cup of milk tea and a snackiepoo. Where I arrived shortly after four o'clock, which is as you know universally teatime. Soon the two elderly Chinese American gentlemen I often chat with got there too.
They are still spry and active. Although sometimes I do wonder about what goes on in their heads. Not that they're losing it, in any way, but the older one gets the more obsessive and sometimes oddly focused one can often become. You may have noticed that about me, for instance. Since I turned into an adult a few years (decades) ago I've become a little more gibberant.
So I got to listen to two ninety year-olds for half an hour talking about underpants.
It's a truly fascinating subject, which entrances the finest minds.
I still don't know which they prefer.
Boxers. Or briefs.
It's probably a good thing that the ladies who work there AND the few other regulars present at that time are not English-fluent, or they would have wondered how seriously nuts you have to be to act fully American. Do you have to talk about underwear? Do all Americans complain that their nether garments are getting so see-through from wear and washing that they dry in minutes? You mentioned the place around the corner as a source, but too expensive; as far as anybody knows they sell panties and bras. So what, exactly, where you looking at?
Did it have a Hello Kitty motif, and if so, why didn't that tip you off?
Thirty minutes about underwear.
And plans to buy it.
So sorry, but I nearly fell asleep twice while that was going on.
Despite the cup of strong milk tea.
I have NO intention at all of doing any research and browsing at the shop around the corner.
I have passed it many times, and laud them for their fabulous selection of bras, panties, bikini briefs, French cuts, high cuts, "boy shorts", grannies, and Hello Kitties. And possibly also thongs, but I don't know.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
OLD AGE REGRETS
It's been over four days since I heard Jeff vociferating about Zohran Mamdani, and I still can't get over his petulant retired civil servant rightwing dildo-head whining. He is, supposedly, an educated man. A university graduate. So why does he always sound like a redneck grampa bitching that his spoon isn't right? A senile old fart bellyaching that those people are using the municipal pool again?
He's my age. Took early retirement. Not a damned day too soon.
An ex-New Yorker, though he's always lived in California.
He didn't like the "rent's too darn high" candidate.
Though Jewish, he doesn't like Jews either.
Tends toward an Irish cop mentality.
He's a stereotype of horrid stereotypes.
He'll be the first person to tell you that he doesn't hate anybody and has no preconceived biases. That he is, in fact, at heart a liberal.
Unlike most of the repulsives in the treehouse, he actually reads occasionally. Real books too. Judging by his torment of the subcontinental, he really dislikes Indians, not the Iranians, blacks, Asians other than the anticommunist virago he married, and Eastern Europeans who aren't Putin. He never says anything good about them, though at least he's been well-trained and actually never talks about them. But that Muslim Communist Radical anti-American really gets his goat. Besides the hippies running San Francisco, the bastards. He's a lot like me. Same number of limbs, eyes, ears. Breathes methane rarely. With a body that's approximately 60% water, plus oxygen, carbon, nitrogen, calcium, and phosphorus, and traces of potassium, sulfur, sodium, chlorine, & magnesium.
The resemblance is striking!
The main difference between me and him is that I am all sweetness and light, with good cheer and warm fellow-feeling toward everybody. A veritable paragon of humanity.
Jeff says "there ought to be a law". Which there is, and he really should know that.
But perhaps during his years as a civil servant he ignored it.
Probably shouldn't apply to people he dislikes.
You know, those people.
Yeah, okay, I'll admit that I dislike most of the world, especially my fellow Americans who voted for the orange pustule (and the parts of the country where they live, and all their personal habits, alleged cuisines, inbred relations and religions), but that's normal.
Screw them. I'm still all sweetness and light. Trust me.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
He's my age. Took early retirement. Not a damned day too soon.
An ex-New Yorker, though he's always lived in California.
He didn't like the "rent's too darn high" candidate.
Though Jewish, he doesn't like Jews either.
Tends toward an Irish cop mentality.
He's a stereotype of horrid stereotypes.
He'll be the first person to tell you that he doesn't hate anybody and has no preconceived biases. That he is, in fact, at heart a liberal.
Unlike most of the repulsives in the treehouse, he actually reads occasionally. Real books too. Judging by his torment of the subcontinental, he really dislikes Indians, not the Iranians, blacks, Asians other than the anticommunist virago he married, and Eastern Europeans who aren't Putin. He never says anything good about them, though at least he's been well-trained and actually never talks about them. But that Muslim Communist Radical anti-American really gets his goat. Besides the hippies running San Francisco, the bastards. He's a lot like me. Same number of limbs, eyes, ears. Breathes methane rarely. With a body that's approximately 60% water, plus oxygen, carbon, nitrogen, calcium, and phosphorus, and traces of potassium, sulfur, sodium, chlorine, & magnesium.
The resemblance is striking!
The main difference between me and him is that I am all sweetness and light, with good cheer and warm fellow-feeling toward everybody. A veritable paragon of humanity.
Jeff says "there ought to be a law". Which there is, and he really should know that.
But perhaps during his years as a civil servant he ignored it.
Probably shouldn't apply to people he dislikes.
You know, those people.
Yeah, okay, I'll admit that I dislike most of the world, especially my fellow Americans who voted for the orange pustule (and the parts of the country where they live, and all their personal habits, alleged cuisines, inbred relations and religions), but that's normal.
Screw them. I'm still all sweetness and light. Trust me.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
SOUNDS LIKE MACHINERY
By the time the bookseller arrived nearly two whole blocks had been generously treated to a moaning unintelligible rendition of 'Country Roads', and when we passed the karaoke place someone was loudly doing something not quite singing in the crowded dive. Which was filled with white people. An unwell-boding sign. After the burger joint we headed over to the beer place -- too crowded -- and then directly to our customary bail-out back-up.
Miss Vivien is looking a little more preggers than last week.
I figure in another month or two she'll be a mommy.
Which means all of you hosebags better behave!
Mentally I am not prepared for a bar tender to actually be an adult. It's a new thing. They're supposed to be delinquency-ennablers, for craps' sake!
Shortly after sitting down a voice behind me happily said "ah maa teen, lei hou". Tat Yee had entered. For the next half hour he and someone who looked like the "most dangerous man in Chinatown" had a loud jovial discussion at the far end of the counter, which combined with the music and the teevee made it quite impossible for me to seem like a rational man because I couldn't understand everything being said. Which is okay, I'm used to being an idiot in such places. Three sources of ambient noise. We probably all sounded berserk.
Besides, there was baseball on the telly. The Giants either did something or failed at it. Attention spans were fragmented, and trains of thought were derailed because of that. My leg has been throbbing off and on all day. I know that we will have to do the peripheral angioplasties on the lower extremities sometime soon, after which I will be young and spry again. Dr. Tran (陳醫生) will likely lecture me to stop smoking -- which I shall probably try for two or three weeks to promote recovery -- but pipes are too much a part of me to give up.
I thoroughly enjoyed my pipe in Chinatown this evening. Other than the hellish sounds from the karaoke place a block away, and the alley with disturbed crazy people nearby, it was remarkably peaceful. Imagine a state of zen-like bliss. Om.
Aged Virginia, smidge of Perique.
The last time I was in the hospital I didn't have a pipe for five days. But that was because my appendix exploded. The stent was an overnighter, as will also be the periph-o-plasties. Even though theoretically these are both in-and-out procedures they often give the patient valium to keep the bugger from twitching on the table. So they will not let you leave on your own steam for several hours. You might end up driving or operating heavy machinery.
Yeah no. No one wants me doing that.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Miss Vivien is looking a little more preggers than last week.
I figure in another month or two she'll be a mommy.
Which means all of you hosebags better behave!
Mentally I am not prepared for a bar tender to actually be an adult. It's a new thing. They're supposed to be delinquency-ennablers, for craps' sake!
Shortly after sitting down a voice behind me happily said "ah maa teen, lei hou". Tat Yee had entered. For the next half hour he and someone who looked like the "most dangerous man in Chinatown" had a loud jovial discussion at the far end of the counter, which combined with the music and the teevee made it quite impossible for me to seem like a rational man because I couldn't understand everything being said. Which is okay, I'm used to being an idiot in such places. Three sources of ambient noise. We probably all sounded berserk.
Besides, there was baseball on the telly. The Giants either did something or failed at it. Attention spans were fragmented, and trains of thought were derailed because of that. My leg has been throbbing off and on all day. I know that we will have to do the peripheral angioplasties on the lower extremities sometime soon, after which I will be young and spry again. Dr. Tran (陳醫生) will likely lecture me to stop smoking -- which I shall probably try for two or three weeks to promote recovery -- but pipes are too much a part of me to give up.
I thoroughly enjoyed my pipe in Chinatown this evening. Other than the hellish sounds from the karaoke place a block away, and the alley with disturbed crazy people nearby, it was remarkably peaceful. Imagine a state of zen-like bliss. Om.
Aged Virginia, smidge of Perique.
The last time I was in the hospital I didn't have a pipe for five days. But that was because my appendix exploded. The stent was an overnighter, as will also be the periph-o-plasties. Even though theoretically these are both in-and-out procedures they often give the patient valium to keep the bugger from twitching on the table. So they will not let you leave on your own steam for several hours. You might end up driving or operating heavy machinery.
Yeah no. No one wants me doing that.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, July 29, 2025
KIND WORDS ABOUT OTHER PLACES
LIke everybody, this blogger has immense respect for the State of Florida. Which still exists. Despite the efforts of its governor, officials, and general populace, to wipe it deservedly off the map. Not to disparage their efforts, but literacy is still above forty percent, the number of people infected with venereal disease below forty percent. Rates of inbreeding are unknown, but presumed to still be lower than Louisiana. Neck and neck with Alabama.
Despite that, however, congenital idiocy is fairly common.
As is demonstrated by the many news articles.
About the exploits of Florida man.
It's as if they're all aliens trying to remember that they have to act human.
That said, things are going to get a whole lot worse there. They've decided to create a giant mosquito breeding ground right in the middle of the swamp, called Alligator Alcatraz. There are any number of illnesses spread by mosquitoes, but the one most likely to make a humongous impact is probably Dengue.
So I'd advise people likely to be accidentally incarcerated there or the politicians visiting for a publicity photo-shoot, for the benefit of their trailer trash voting base, to apply massive doses of insect repellent, in hopes that enough of it will wash off during rainstorms to kill every bug within a ten-mile radius. Let us assume that the armed goons guarding the place are far too stupid to notice a mass outbreak, even if a few of them fall sick and die. They'll just assume that it's the food, which is likely to go bad within hours in that climate, and some of the staff are from Arkansas and can't spell salmonella, escherichia coli, or campylobacter. Or soap.
Things are slightly better in many other places in the red states. Still scandalous inbreeding and casually spread diseases, but not quite so hot, wet, and flat, and consequently far less likely to wash away because of climate change and a rise of sea-levels.
There are still some libraries without bookbans there.
Also, reputedly, people who can spell.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Despite that, however, congenital idiocy is fairly common.
As is demonstrated by the many news articles.
About the exploits of Florida man.
It's as if they're all aliens trying to remember that they have to act human.
That said, things are going to get a whole lot worse there. They've decided to create a giant mosquito breeding ground right in the middle of the swamp, called Alligator Alcatraz. There are any number of illnesses spread by mosquitoes, but the one most likely to make a humongous impact is probably Dengue.
So I'd advise people likely to be accidentally incarcerated there or the politicians visiting for a publicity photo-shoot, for the benefit of their trailer trash voting base, to apply massive doses of insect repellent, in hopes that enough of it will wash off during rainstorms to kill every bug within a ten-mile radius. Let us assume that the armed goons guarding the place are far too stupid to notice a mass outbreak, even if a few of them fall sick and die. They'll just assume that it's the food, which is likely to go bad within hours in that climate, and some of the staff are from Arkansas and can't spell salmonella, escherichia coli, or campylobacter. Or soap.
Things are slightly better in many other places in the red states. Still scandalous inbreeding and casually spread diseases, but not quite so hot, wet, and flat, and consequently far less likely to wash away because of climate change and a rise of sea-levels.
There are still some libraries without bookbans there.
Also, reputedly, people who can spell.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
LIKE A CAT IN TAI O
In the peripheral areas of Hong Kong are a number of villages and settlements with a history of smuggling, piracy, and fishing. And, naturally, producing salt fish (鹹魚 'haam yü'; "briny fish"), which is a traditional product still semi-popular all over South East Asia. Many modern educated people won't touch it, but their ancestors relied upon it. White people are famous for eschewing it, unless they're into food, or speak Dutch with an Indonesian hue. If both of those things, it's probably a guarantee that they love it along with its relatives shrimp paste (鹹蝦醬 '"haahm haa jeung"') and fish sauce (魚露 'yü lou').
What I mean to say is that if someone is a typical high school educated Anglo twit from the Midwest, East Coast, South, or Central Valley, they'll probably exclaim "eewwwww" and wrinkle their little white button nose at it. Then head on over to McDonalds or Boo-king instead for the "good eating". Growing bodies and all that. They need grease.
Even if they're old enough to know better.
For them, that's grandma's age.
It's some good stuff. Coarse minced in fried rice, mixed into a fatty pork dish, with braised eggplant, in tofu and salt fish soup, or simply eaten with some white steamed rice and chilipaste (which is not a standard Hong Kong idea). Hip modern word: umami.
There is a McDonalds near where I work in the suburbs.
But there is no real Chinese restaurant.
That tells you something.
Chilipaste is rare, sambal blatjang unknown. They're almost like Iowa in their culinary stodginess. Barbecue sauce is exotic. The most popular condiment is ketchup.
Some of them are vegan, taking culinary puritanism to an extreme. Some of the best salt fish is produced in Tai O (大澳 'daai ou'; "deep inlet", "large cove"), on the south side of Lantau Island (大嶼山 'daai yü saan'; "big island mountain"). Occasionally you can find it in Chinatown, look for glossiness, thickness, and a tissue around the head to keep the flies out. It should still have a slight softness. To prepare it, cut off the head, then rinse it to remove dust and some of the salt, and split it so that you can take out the spine. That last is, strictly speaking, not entirely necessary. What you need for most dishes is one or two pieces about the size of a finger. That is sufficient for steamed pork patty with salt fish (咸魚蒸肉餅 'haam yü jing yiuk beng').
For two people, one pound of fatty ground pork, maybe a little chopped water chestnut and rehydrated black mushroom, plus a pinch of sugar, ground pepper, scant drizzle sesame oil, a tablespoon of cornstarch more or less, and some shredded ginger to add on top half way through the cooking. Mix everything except the ginger and salt fish, flatten it into hamburger thickness or slightly thinner on an oiled plate, and place the salt fish pieces on top. Steam for eight to ten minutes, strewing the ginger over it around midpoint.
Eat with rice, some veggies, and sambal.
Looks ugly, tastes grand.
Tai O is worth visiting if you go to Hong Kong. It's a small village where most people still dwell in stilt houses (棚屋 'pang ok'; "shed house, stilt dwelling") at the river mouth and have ties to fishing or salt making. There is, to the best of my knowledge, no American fast food franchise of any kind anywhere nearby.
If you're traveling with American teenagers, there are shopping malls in Kowloon.
Just leave them there. You will all be happier.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
What I mean to say is that if someone is a typical high school educated Anglo twit from the Midwest, East Coast, South, or Central Valley, they'll probably exclaim "eewwwww" and wrinkle their little white button nose at it. Then head on over to McDonalds or Boo-king instead for the "good eating". Growing bodies and all that. They need grease.
Even if they're old enough to know better.
For them, that's grandma's age.
It's some good stuff. Coarse minced in fried rice, mixed into a fatty pork dish, with braised eggplant, in tofu and salt fish soup, or simply eaten with some white steamed rice and chilipaste (which is not a standard Hong Kong idea). Hip modern word: umami.
There is a McDonalds near where I work in the suburbs.
But there is no real Chinese restaurant.
That tells you something.
Chilipaste is rare, sambal blatjang unknown. They're almost like Iowa in their culinary stodginess. Barbecue sauce is exotic. The most popular condiment is ketchup.
Some of them are vegan, taking culinary puritanism to an extreme. Some of the best salt fish is produced in Tai O (大澳 'daai ou'; "deep inlet", "large cove"), on the south side of Lantau Island (大嶼山 'daai yü saan'; "big island mountain"). Occasionally you can find it in Chinatown, look for glossiness, thickness, and a tissue around the head to keep the flies out. It should still have a slight softness. To prepare it, cut off the head, then rinse it to remove dust and some of the salt, and split it so that you can take out the spine. That last is, strictly speaking, not entirely necessary. What you need for most dishes is one or two pieces about the size of a finger. That is sufficient for steamed pork patty with salt fish (咸魚蒸肉餅 'haam yü jing yiuk beng').
For two people, one pound of fatty ground pork, maybe a little chopped water chestnut and rehydrated black mushroom, plus a pinch of sugar, ground pepper, scant drizzle sesame oil, a tablespoon of cornstarch more or less, and some shredded ginger to add on top half way through the cooking. Mix everything except the ginger and salt fish, flatten it into hamburger thickness or slightly thinner on an oiled plate, and place the salt fish pieces on top. Steam for eight to ten minutes, strewing the ginger over it around midpoint.
Eat with rice, some veggies, and sambal.
Looks ugly, tastes grand.
Tai O is worth visiting if you go to Hong Kong. It's a small village where most people still dwell in stilt houses (棚屋 'pang ok'; "shed house, stilt dwelling") at the river mouth and have ties to fishing or salt making. There is, to the best of my knowledge, no American fast food franchise of any kind anywhere nearby.
If you're traveling with American teenagers, there are shopping malls in Kowloon.
Just leave them there. You will all be happier.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Search This Blog
RED COLOURED SPECTACLES
Most insane conspiracy theories come from the rightwing, probably because leftwingers are sober realists dealing with harsh realities and sc...
