ZOMBIE FINGER

My apartment mate is at times theatrical, given to hyperbole and exaggeration. A tendency which I presume is extremely Cantonese of her. One that I have observed a number of times in Chinatown. My barber wails disconsolately at times that "there is nothing good to eat here (unlike HK, where he is from), we shall all starve on this inedible muck" (which explains why he is scrawny I guess). The old guys at the bakery are likely to declaim that things are not as they used to be, and then Yorkshiremen each other with ever more eloquent details of how it is not. The elderly coathanger one table over at the chachanteng kept up a string of overloud commentary after he noticed an acquaintance, which sounded for all the world like he wanted to rile up the masses to revolt against our lizard overlords.

My apartment mate stubbed a finger yesterday. Which is now gangrenous, tell my brothers how I died, maybe it's becoming zombiefied, good lord, if it falls off I can throw it at people (giving them the finger), you are heartless, heartless, no it doesn't hurt anymore.
But look at it, look at it! It's TWICE normal size! Three times!

Being quite phlegmatic, and rational, like most Dutchmen, I informed her that no, it didn't look huge, just a fraction thicker than it used to. And would probably be quite well again by tomorrow evening.

Apparently I don't know beans, medically, and should just hushy.
I am unreceptive and cold in her hour of peril.
Heartless! Oh!

Famous Scandinavian art-dude Edvard Munch was so startled by a dramatic Chinese fellow on a bridge in Oslo one day that he immortalized the scene. Capturing the very essence of a Cantonese person, and also the expressive quality of Cantonese Opera. Which explains much. Norwegians are even less given to emotionalism than us Netherlanders.
By comparison, we are practically Mediterranean.
Despite being cold fish.


Also, being calm and polite, sometimes I can't get in a word edgeways.
Really, I should try to get out of my shell.
Express myself.



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