SMELLS LIKE ZEITGEIST

After dealing with postal employees and bureaucrats recently, my apartment mate realizes that she must be a nicer person. Which is remarkable, because she already is a very nice person. But she feels bad for sometimes acting under the assumption that her co-workers are idiots. Um, we all do that, it's natural, and they are.

We used to be a couple, then we broke up, and we still live together. Separate rooms, of course. It's been several years. Trust me, she is a nice person. I am not. Which she hasn't ever noticed, because as previously mentioned, she is a nice person.
My obvious flaws are far less noticeable if you're her.

What that means is that for a long time now I've enjoyed the security of living with someone whom I can trust, and her stuffed animals, even though I'm often an unpleasant old crouch, with stuffed animals some of whom are clearly insane.

She also has similar habits, despite being such a hugely different person. She likes tea, I like tea. She likes listening to jazz, I am largely unmusical. She appreciates classical music, I'm somewhat a barbarian. She likes Chinese food, I add hotsauce to it. She occasionally eats junkfood, whereas I think it's only edible if I add hotsauce. And both of us love Indian food upon occasion (although I will ask for a few fresh chilipeppers to nibble on between bites).

When she gets salt and pepper chicken wings from a nearby Chinese restaurant she asks them to throw plenty of sliced Jalapeños in when frying them, because she knows I'll put them on my plate as the perfect vegetable accompiniment, good for digestion and my emotional well-being.

A COLD PLACE

One point on which I'm slowly coming around to her point of view is the mystical belief in snow weasels. Creatures that slink and wriggle around outside during cold weather clacking their cutleries waiting for someone to stumble into their path that they can whack and feast upon. They come down from Alaska on well-worn trails and are the main reason why California is scarcely populated. Bones litter the route along the Sierras.

I used to scoff at that. How absurd!
Now I'm not so sure.

It's been the coldest June in San Francisco since the middle ages. They brought the cold with them. Climate change. Small wriggly foreign intelligences manipulating the weather.
It's a very rational explanation for why I sometimes shut down and whimper.
Unlike some of those stupid people wearing shorts or halter tops.


Early this morning, when I stepped with my pipe for a smoke, I froze my tuchus off. It's still lying somewhere on Nob Hill (Taylor Street at Jackson), shivering on the sidwalk, moaning that we should burn some Republicans for warmth, and their silly little lap dogs too!
Two disconsolate pink blobs, cold cold cold!

I must restore my soul with a cup of HK milk tea and something hot and crispy: a fried fish burger and French fries: 香酥魚柳包 · 薯條 ('heung sou yü lau baau, sue tiu').
Heading out early for lunch in Chinatown. With a sweater.
Darn those snow weasels.



I'm enjoying Ellipsis Flake these days. Another fine tobacco product from Greg Pease. The tin poofle states: "Against a backdrop of rich Virginia tobaccos, small leaf Izmir, St. James Perique and a trace of heirloom Burley create a dreamscap of flavors that dance across your palate. Its natural sweetness mingles with notes of citrus, ethereal hints of exotic spices and a delicately nutty character engaging your senses, inviting your imagination to explore what lies beyond." It's good stuff. Mild-medium, very enjoyable. I scarcely notice the Burley.
The Turkish leaf probably tones that down a bit.



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