KIND OF STRANGE

Having put off several chores and errands till the last possible moment, I didn't get down to C'town for eaties till late yesterday. Forewent milk tea because they do not have that at the place where I ate. But lunch was excellent. Rice sheet noodles with pork and cilantro (豬肉腸粉，芫茜 'jyu yiuk cheung fan, yuen sai'). Normally cheung fan is more common at breakfast instead of closer to dinner, but it was the first food I had eaten all day, so really it was breakfast. With peanut sauce, chili crisp, and Sriracha. Delicious.

A pipe afterward while watching Toishanese grannies playing cards in the park.

Warm weather encourages them to stay longer.



In connection with a service centre call, I am aware that it's raining today in Manila, as well as fifteen degrees warmer than here. I've been there during the rainy season.
Visually it's rather lovely, but everything ends up slightly sticky.
There is no evening there. It's either day or night.
Dawn and dusk last all of three minutes.
Accompanied by salagubang.
Loud at darkness.

Salagubang itu, sejenis kumbang yang sangat berisik yang saya ingat dari malam hari di Kepulauan Filipina. Bertahun-tahun yang lalu.


At certain times of the day there are no techno-yuppies on the bus in either direction. Just normal people. More masks. Some of them are asleep and look extraordinarily peaceful.

Dogs occasionally. Sadly, no cat passengers.



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ORANGE EVERYWHERE

Just for the heck of it, I looked up what "cankles" are. As has been mentioned when Donald Trump's physique is described. You know, everytime I visit my own doctor or cardiologist, they check my legs to see if there is any oedema. So far nuttin'. I credit my excellent podal health to clean living, spiritual purity, high morals, and, of course, the fact that I walk regularely, instead of taking a golf cart everywhere.

Thanks to Trump, I now know what 'cankles' are. So there's that.
I'm mighty surprised that they aren't orange-hued.

BTW: his hands aren't tiny anymore.

PHOTO

A responsible clinician would recommend amputation. Everything from the sternum down. It's all rotten, and gangrene is probably setting in. Diminished sensitivity means that the patient won't notice necrotization of outlying flab till too late anyway. Put what's left of the fellow in a box on wheels and take him out for an hour of sunshine everyday. Just make sure the dogs don't get him. Chihuahuas can be real vicious if their enemy is at eye-level.


Icing is that he won't be able to run if they arrest him for what's in the Epstein files.




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THE LITTLE CHILDREN!

Several years ago a coworker had to organize a child safety seminar. So I posted a helpful list (see here: "safety" which may not have been precisely what he needed. But it still holds, the rules still apply. More than ever.

Friend of this blog Spiros commented "I have childproofed my house, and yet somehow the little buggers keep getting in." Which highlighted a recurring problem with children.


I have childproofed my house, and yet they keep getting in!


Cattleprods, roach spray, and a bug zapper were all mooted in the comment string.

The major problem with the little buggers usually being that they've drunk too much cappucino and want a kitten. Especially if left unattended.

I'm a doctor. I can say these things.

Children can be gainfully employed doing laundry and mining coal, for less than it costs you to hire a grown-up. They'll work long hours and also happily pick your agricultural crops as a school outing or outdoor adventure. And, because they're malleable and parts grow back, you need not pay workman's comp insurance.

Plus in many parts of the country they can be locally sourced.

Particularly in Kentucky and Tennessee.
As well as the Carolinas.
West Virginia.



As always, terms and conditions may apply.
Do not employ near heavy machinery.
Keep away from an open flame.
Check with your doctor.
Banana for scale.



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ABOUT HEMMINGWAY ...

Almost like they're aware of what I post, the algorithms have started scattering nasal relief and nostril spa treaments in my social media and news feed. They really, really want me to shove liquids and gels up my nose. Somewhere out there marketing types think that doing so will solve all my problems and lead to a greater sense of peace and harmony in my universe. Surely congestion is affecting my love life? Don't I passionately wish to inhale the rich aroma of olive oil roasted garlic in it's karmic fullness? My life is incomplete without the deep, deep clarity that sterile lightly medicated sprays will be bring!

At the moment it smells like pipe tobacco and freshly brewed coffee in here. When an adult wakes up, that is really all he needs to smell. A mature and civilized spectrum of fragrances.

[The tobacco is Rattray's Marlin Flake, which is very similar to McConnell's Folded Flake, and might actually be the same product. Medium, somewhat on the mild side. A good solid product. Minor inclusions of Kentucky and Perique as condimentals. It's what Hemmingway would have smoked if he hadn't been such a macho poseur.]


Wet grass, wood polish, a bowl of lemons, tannins from a distant bog, roofing tar, the salt fish perfume of a Chinese grocery, overripe fruit in the neighbor's orchard, grilled fatty pork with a touch of lemon grass ....


The best smell in the city during summer is the complete absence of people on the street outside the apartment building. The oldsters that cluster at the bus stop shortly after seven have all headed across the hill to Chinatown for breakfast, the bums sleeping in two or three doorways have woken up, scratched themselves, and gone in search of cigarettes and a bag of cheetos, and the joggers and dog walkers have done their necessary defecatory acts, bagged it all up, and are at work. Peace.

You smell that, son? It smells like freedom. We have no tourists on this part of the hill, not a single stinking one. We don't need any napalm.


À propos of nothing at all ...

Sadly, there are no iguanas either. I like iguanas, but hell will freeze over before I ever go to Florida, even for that. Life is too short to put up with elderly racists and dirty A-shirt wearing slovenly Turmp voters doing stupid stuff. That's ninety percent of the people there, yes?

That more or less describes the entire Red State area. Bucket loads.
Hundreds and hundreds of miles of dunder heads.
A vast expanse of Placerville.



Ernest Hemmingway had a pet iguana named Abdul. Who would have much preferred it if the old bastard had smoked Marlin Flake instead of those rancid Cubans. Heck, any one of the fine VaPers by Ratrays. Brown Clunee, Hal O' The Wynd, Marlin Flake, Old Gowrie.
Iguanas hate the smell of stogies. This is well-known.



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HEATED DISAPPROVAL

Per the weather report it's going to be warm today. Like it was yesterday. When everyone I encountered during the afterenoon said, conversationally, that it was a hot day. I naturally disagreed, as the persons stating that were all from Canton or Hong Kong, where the average temperature at this time of year is mid eighties. And it's also humid.

We're neither hot nor humid. Some of us may be damp in certain places, but let us not go there. In HK it's damp. And often there is rain.


Here, we're kind of like the Netherlands. With a little less chance of rain.


One of the reasons for my disagreeing with them, because they should know better and be more realistic, is that I personally do not like this weather. While I can't really feel the alleged heat, it does make my walking around the city more painful than it should be. Circulatory issues in the legs. It's odd. I don't feel the heat. My legs do.

Yesterday had me grumpy by the time I caught the bus back.

And there were a number of people about inperfectly dressed. Too much bareness showing. And too many tattoos. I realized for the first time that one of the local street people has a tattoo. There is just something about tattoos that makes my skin crawl a bit.

Same with piercings.
The human body is not supposed to have that many holes.


The deep meaning of your tattoos and piercings kan me echt gestolen worden. It's onzinnig and jejeune, silly person. And I do not want to see your pale flabbity.

No one does.

There isn't a time and place for that.



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THE INTERIOR OF YOUR NOSE

While at the bakery for tea time I had a sneezing fit (pollen) which may have been spurred by taking the amlodipine besylate fifteen minutes earlier (relaxation and expansion of bloodvessels, consequently greater nasal sensitivity). That's just a theory.

A few days ago I had a discussion with an adherent of natural healing crap, who disparaged the benefits of medicines like amlodipine (a calcium channel blocker) which gives far better stroke prevention than, let us say, many other hypertensives, and buckets more than apple cider vinegar and/or manuka honey. Also, it knocks healing crystals out of the water, quite.

But there are certain side effects, that not everyone will experience equally.
In my case upper back pain and bitchiness.
Which you might not notice.


GRANULOMATOUS AMOEBIC ENCEPHALITIS

Naturally the sneezing fit called brain-eating amoebas to mind. Balamuthia mandrillaris being one such. An infection (skin lesions) does not inveriably end in death unless it migrates to the brain. Early intervention by dosing with flucytosine, pentamidine, fluconazole, sulfadiazine, a macrolide antibiotic, and trifluoperazine (per Wikipedia) seems to have cured patients.
There are other promising medications.

The amoeba is found in both soil and water, and occurs largely in the temperate regions. Flushing the nose caused one infection (International Journal Of Infectious Diseases -- Brain Infection, Improper Nasal Lavage article December 2018, and sounds rather nasty besides.
Do NOT rinse the inside of your nose with tap water to get rid of pollen.


In point of fact, I had never even heard of nasal rinsing before.
It sounds like a very Protestant thing to do.


"Unclean noses lead to masturbation and weak impulse control. Fortunately Wesson's Patented Nasal Douche, now with barium, prevents that. Use daily to prevent lax morals!"


Available at natural healing stores everywhere.



By the way: Ivermectin and hydroxychloroquine are almost certainly useless.
Just like prayer and the laying on of hands by preachers.
But go ahead, whatever twizzles your gasket.



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HAEMORRHAGIC FEVER

Yesterday's final illustration of icky things was a haemorrhagic fever virus. Several hours after doing the pink slime mold aethelium, and the typhoid fever bacteria.


Haemorrhagic fevers are mostly tropical, and occur on all continents. Very few are 'temperate' zone ailments.


Tropical zones have exceedingly much to recommend them. Exciting locales, interesting native populations, fascinating local cultures, and some mighty interesting cuisines. Plus wrenching poverty, high crime rates, frequent bloody civil wars, and mind-bendingly nasty assaults on your very physical survival from humans, animals, plants, and diseases.

Life can be cheap and brutal there.
But the food is often stellar.
Well worth a visit.
Great photos!

Just think of your friends' reactions when you tell them you spent several weeks in the hospital and almost died there! They'll be so jealous! Such an adventure!


"No, I can't remember a darn thing about the food, I was deathly ill and had visions while in the ICU. The hospital staff had given up on me, but then the local witchdoctor treated me with apple cider vinegar and manuka honey, and I recovered. I have found the meaning of life."


You stopped eating meat while there, and are now much more spiritual.
It was like a whole body cleanse. People pay for that.
Sometimes you still sing deliriously.
Flashbacks.



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MISSING THAT EGG

The evening was good. Only about three street people, half a dozen crazies, and a small well-behaved flock of tourists having a night-time walking tour of Chinatown alleys. Plus the proprietess of the karaoke bar had turned the sound down a bit. There may have been a noise-complaint, or she got tired of white people living at the top of their little white lungs. Evenso, we gave the place a miss. Some horrid pretentious singing.

It had not been audible while smoking my pipe a block away.

Vivien at the other place is looking more like a watermelon ready to burst than ever. There's a delivery date pool. Winner gets a bottle of Jameson's Whiskey. Seeing as I never win at these things I picked halloween. That way the kid is safe.


Because I delayed too long over fun diseases on the internet -- both the Mayo clinic and Wikipedia, amongst others -- the cook had already left by the time I got down to my usual Tuesday place. There was nothing to eat there. Went somewhere else, and had food that only merited slight enthusiasm. What I wanted was 牛肉免治飯 ('ngau yiuk min ji faan').
With an extra fried egg on top. And a cup of milk tea.
Oh well. Next week.

The place to which I went instead seems to be popular among the low-lifes, and attracts the tourists. And everybody spoke English, despite the waiter and other staff there being very well able to speak Chinese.

I've drawn three icky things in the past twenty-four hours. The typhoid fever bacteria, a pink slime mold aethelium, and a haemorrhagic fever virus. So it's been a pretty good day.
Both after dinner and before heading over to Vivien's for tea I smoked a pipe.

On the way to the bus stop afterwards a gentleman losing his trousers AND nether garment was pinkly visible in the next block. We kept a decent distance, and he headed further south as we turned right, and, we believe, kept on stumbling. Excelsior!

It's not that hard to master the art of wearing pants.
Many people have done it, and lived.
It's commendable.


I shall NOT be illustrating that. I do not wish to draw it.
And you do not want to see it.



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IT MIGHT BE HUMAN

A posting on Facebook got me all excited about pink slime mold. Which is a myxogastrid amoeba that occurs worldwide. It is not a fungus. The aethalia (singular: aethelium) develop on wet rotten wood from June to November. Orangeish pink through pale pastel purples, to brownish golden blobs. I like blobs. They can exude a pinkish slime before fully ripe.

Pinks, lavenders, rusty reds, and diverse rubicund hues.
A lovely blobbity blobness.

Before maturity, single celled specimens locomote as masses of reddish protoplasmic amoeba-like particles that swallow bacteria, fungal spores, and organic nutrients.
Then form fruiting bodies of a warty bobbled appearance, soft and spongy.
The microscopic spores are ashen-grey.


Though not in any way similar to me personally, despite what you might think, or may have heard from misguided individuals, I can see myself in that. It speaks to me.
The feurige drang nach lebenslust.

Round red rude thing.

There you are, a small happy insect with an elegant hard shell, wandering around your native environment filled with fragrant rotting wood and good things to eat, when you encounter this large spherical thing. You extend a foreleg tentatively. Can it be moved?
Is it edible? Is it alive?

It is indeed edible. But it ruptures offensively at you.

And, oh horrors, there are more of them clustered in the softest soggiest part of the log, where the best food particles are. What utter evil! It's a whole mob of them!

You need a drink and a smoke after this, to calm you down.
You thoughtfully fill your Comoy Lovat with flake.
Possibly Recency or JackKnife Plug.
Nature is abhorrent.
Mmmmm!



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POSSIBLE COMPLICATIONS

My morning reading today was about typhoid, one of the most exciting diseases with great historical resonance. One must automatically think of Burma and prison camps during the war. As well as horrible tropic conditions. By the time the disease has progressed, severe and possibly fatal complications may result: respiratory infections that make full use of the weakened patient, intestinal haemorrhage, delirium, metastatic abcesses, inflammation of the gall bladder, plus of course spleen and liver enlargement and sensitivity.
Acute and chronic dehydration is a constantly recurring problem.

Pensively I take another sip of my coffee. Second cup this morning. This man is not likely to dehydrate anytime soon, as I swill caffeinated beverages throughout the day, and often need to get up and micturate even into wee hours.

In areas where the drinking water is not sterilized, such as prison camps in tropical swamps, contamination by faeces is not uncommon. Fortunately coffee and tea require boiling the water. Conclusion: caffeinated beverages lead to good health and increased life span.
Republican fascist influencers should kindly take note.

Treatment for abcesses can be problematic. I'm not at all sure that our ICE goons in Florida are trained in drainage OR antibiotic dosages, and in any case pennicilin allergies are not part of their knowledge sets.

Besides, all their experience is on the brutality end of prison camps. The therapeutic side is not their concern, and the Republican Party is anxious that that not be in the programme.


If you did not bring the water for your coffee or tea to a full roiling boil you may find yourself dying of a completely avoidable disease in Burma or Florida. Before travelling in the Deep South, whether voluntarily or otherwise, read up on fluoroquinolones, cephalosporins, azithromycin, and carbapenems. Chloramphenicol, ampicillin, cotrimoxazole.

If you get sick, drink lots of liquids.
Don't share food with natives.
And avoid the alligators.
Plus Republicans,



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BREAKFAST PERFECTION

Before my dumplings arrived I noticed a family looking at the menus posted on the window. All tables were occupied, which they saw. But I was by myself at a fourseater, so I made up their mind for them by popping my head outside and telling them I'd move over to the back counter if they wished to come in. My meal tasted exceptionally good after that. Good deed bla bla bla, selfless bla bla bla, and also good for the dumpling place.
Tourists who otherwise might not have dumplings for years.


Shan't mention this to anyone. Don't want people to think I'm soft.
But it's dumplings. And everyone loves dumplings.


There are four foods that encapsulate and exemplify Chinese comfort food without which a city might as well be a hellhole in the Red States: Dumplings, noodle soup, roast duck, and congee. Plus claypot rice, so that's actually five. Oh, and rice sheet noodles (腸粉 'cheung fan'), so six. Fortunately we have all that generously in this city.
A multiplicity of all of them.

And, as you naturally understand, those are all perfect breakfast foods, even though I often have them for lunch or dinner. Which frequently actually is breakfast, as I've spent several hours doom scrolling or reading Wikipedia articles before I eat.

In fact, the only reason I snarf down a pastry at work in the first hour that I'm there and it's quiet is so that I don't rip anyone's head off later. Even offensive old rightwing smelly sponges don't deserve that. And there might be witnesses.


What I had this morning as "breakfast" was a strong cup of coffee.
Followed by a stroll in the gloom smoking my pipe.
I did not rip anyone's head off.



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THE EMERGENCY DATING SITE

Years ago I was very briefly subscribed to a dating site. Nothing happened. As, having read some of my posts on this blog you would expect. It was probably the fact that I wasn't vegan and had neither a dog nor tattoos. Everybody LOVES dog-owning vegans.
Well, also the other people didn't appeal to me.

And perhaps it was my picture.

I don't do selfies well.


Also, I don't text, drive a car, abstain from tobacco, or carry my cell-phone everywhere.

Given that most of the calls I get are from someone calling himself 'Michael' or 'Brian', or their feminine equivalents, anxious to tell me all about the exciting changes this enrollment period, burial plots, and air ducts, and asking very many personal questions like my age (timeless) and how many children I have (zero) it seems stupid. The cellphone always stays exactly where the landline phone used to be. Which is precisely right.


If, dogforbid, I ever join another dating site, I've got just the right profile picture.

ME EATING DUMPLINGS

Eating dumplings is not only far more likely than getting a tattoo, avoiding tobacco, or having an emergency ("help, I've fallen and I can't get up") by the side of the motorway in El Dorado County (someone suggested 'emergencies' as a good reason to carry the device with me at all times). In fact, this afternoon I will probably have dumplings. In Chinatown.
Instead of driving to El Dorado County to have an emergency.

Timeless. No actual pets. I like dumplings.

And there are no airducts.

Unfallen.



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ELLIPSIS AND GÉOMÉTRIE

A visitor from Germany wished to take back some gifties for a pipe smoker of an older generation. Something uniquely American. So naturally I suggested tobaccos from Greg Pease, as several of them are unavailable in Germany. And Greg Pease is a Californian. Of course his products are highly regarded (yes, by me) and reflect the local zeitgeist and weltanschauung perfectly. Trust me on this. I am representative of the majority.

Well, given how few pipe smokers have survived till the present, that's not many people. Two people of English ancestry, one German, and three Dutch Americans, two of whom possess Dutch surnames, and a South African gentleman. Not enough biologically speaking to form a viable breeding population. Besides, none of us can run fast enough to overtake females of the species. Anyway, running isn't dignified.

[There are also several smokers of aromatic products like BCA, RLP 6, and 1Q floating around. They don't count.
They're probably sterile. A vicious miasma surrounds them, and they may be rogues or diseased.]

Years ago it was different. We thundered in vast herds across the prairie.

So I recommended two recent examples from G. L. Pease.

Ellipsis and Géométrie.

Both are Virginia based, with additional tobaccos added condimentally.

Ellipsis consists of Virginias with a little Turkish and Perique. Flake. It is contemplative, medium strength. Géométrie is also a Virginia-based product, with more Turkish added for zest. Plug. Slightly spicy. Milder than Ellipsis because Turkish is lower in Nicotine, but a richer flavour. Both products excite me. Breeding frenzy level.

[Ellipsis besteht aus Virginias mit ein bisschen Türkisches tabakblatt und Perique. Flake (gepresste scheiben). Es ist sehr besinnlich, und mittelstark. Géométrie ist ebenfalls ein Virginia-basiertes produkt, dem noch mehr Türkisch für mehr würze zugesetzt wurde. Ein plug (bloktabak). Leicht blumig. Milder als Ellipsis, da Türkische blätter weniger nikotin enthälten, aber ein reicheres aroma. Beide produkte begeistern mich, fast bis zum brutrausch.]

[Ellipsis bestaat uit Virginia tabakken met een beetje Turks en perique. Een flake (geperste plakjes). Het is zeer contemplatief en heeft een gemiddelde sterkte. Géométrie is ook een product van Virginia blad, met nog meer Turkse tabak voor ietwat meer pittigheid. Een plug (bloktabak). Licht bloemig. Milder dan Ellipsis, omdat Turks tabaksblad minder nicotine bevat, maar het heeft een rijkere aroma. Beide producten bekoren me zeer, bijna tot euforie.

Both are good with a cup of tea while pissing-off cigar smokers.
Which is also something I recommend.
Very highly.

TOBACCO INDEX


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IT'S SEMI INTERNATIONAL!

Having worked for a few days in a cultural cesspool (Marin County), I needed sustenance. Broad wheat flour noodles, chopped sausage, peanut sauce, chilipaste, and a deglaze that also involved mushrooms and fish paste. Delicious. While eating I entertained myself by reading about RFK Jr.'s brainworm. From which I segued into diseases caused by poor sanitation and insufficient clean drinking water, such as might be an issue at 'Alligator Alcatraz', Kristi Noem's fantasy playland. Or is it Stephen Miller's wet dream?

Never mind. It's obvious that brainworms are in play here. The entire gubmint is probably infected. How else do you explain Trump going to Alaska, getting bloody bupkes from Putin, throwing a tempter tantrum so awful it made poor little Karoline soil her panties, and everyone treating it as some great diplomatic success?

Brain worms. Just tape. Nothing special.
Probably undercooked victim.

You saw it here first, folks, this administration is possibly more likely to catch kuru than any other regime in history. But RFK Jr's worms will get them first. Plus cocaine and adderall.

Years ago a coworker became convinced that I utilized black magic to influence what was on her teevee after I described kuru, it's route of transmission, symptoms, plus progression and inevitable outcome. In juicy detail. She desperately found somewhere else to work not infested with a Dutchman PDQ. And I'm still rather chuffed by that entire episode.

There were also other popular ailments I detailed for her. Made her resolve to avoid travel.
Sick foreigners speaking "languages" weren't her bag.
All those horrid diseases!

She was in international sales. I wouldn't be surprised if she's working for the administration now. A real talent.

Probably as a prison guard at our new detention centres.

She could spell 'Florida'. Difficult words.


Very white bread.



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THE FOG OF DISTASTE

There is nothing quite like a nice cup of tea, a bowl of tobacco in a vintage briar, and dense fog for making a crusty old Dutchman happy. The young lady prancing past with the perfect coiff and the pink fluffy handbag could probably sense that, and smiled in response. It had already been looming fog when I got on the bus, the hills behind Sausalito were cottonwool covered, and as we got closer to the bridge the grey was much thicker, darker, and far threatening. The span was grey on all sides, only a few car lengths ahead visible.

My feet had been uncomfortable all day. That's the combination of Marin, Marinite snoots, and poor circulation. I particularly wish to blame the snoots.

The natives of Marin would be far more tolerable if they were foggier.
Sometimes they're too reptilian and Karenite to bear.

More fog would, no question, humanize them.


Well, maybe part of it is the types I'm usually exposed to; sour old self-satisfied rightwing blisters and young yuppie techno-drooges quite full of themselves. So I might be biased.

Kim came wandering in around five o'clock. San Francisco college professor, wicked sense of humour, probably even less patience for those people than myself. He told me a completely unprintable joke, bless him, and wandered off again.

The leg problem will be solved once I have the peripheral angioplasties on the nether extremities done. Which, if scheduling after I see my cardiologist in September works out, should be sometime soon. Sadly, he cannot do anything about the ghastly natives.
But Orkin does make house and work site calls, so there's that.

Sometimes I dreamily imagine a giant tent being put around the entire county, excepting San Quentin, and the whole place then getting gassed for vermin.

[Why excepting San Quentin? Well, those criminals are innocent.]

That way there can be a fresh start.


Lots of love, or something.



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AMOEBIC NASTINESS

It's a bird, it's a plane, it's ... a protozoon! But it's nasty and mean. Samuel suggested I look up naeglaria fowleri, of which he had only encountered one case in his years of practise. And that was enough. And reading about it has permanently discouraged me from swimming in the warm water of industrial cooling systems as well as any swimming pools that don't massively reek of chlorine.

In actual fact, I've avoided swimming pools successfully for decades now.
Largely because of the effluvium of my fellow humans.
Juices! They're covered in juices!

Amoebic meningoencephalitis is almost always fatal.

The Wikipedia article is fascinating. I shall have to reread it a few times. While staying out of warm aquatic environments. It would appear that the British were on to something with their cold baths.

I heartily recommend British Public Schools for that reason alone. The birching and cricket not so much. An added benefit is that your sprog may end up speaking Latin too, albeit with an irritating uppercrustian English accent. Very useful if you plan to visit Pompei.
You'll probably need a translator.

Stay out of the baths.

What really added a surreal touch was that my apartment mate, while I was reading up on this, decided that she really likes the word 'moussaka'. Moussaka! People should name their kids 'Moussaka', it would be unique and musical. Moussaka! Has anyone named their pet Moussaka? Moussaka! She herself is thinking about changing her own name, Moussaka!
She really like the sound of it, Moussaka!

She uttered the word moussakka several more times.

She may have had a stressful week.

Work is getting to her.



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BETTER THAN A PHONE CALL

Like almost everybody, this blogger has had an abiding fascination with slime-molds since early youth. Well, fairly recently. This week. Since yesterday, in fact. They are fascinating animals. Creatures. Plants. Organisms of some kind.

With fruiting bodies. Often on stalks.
Inhabiting damp places.

Sort of fungi.


One of the most thrilling polysyllabic aggragates has to be "non-amoebozoan slime molds". That is one heck of a word. I can't wait to casually drop that into a conversation.


Yesterday I saw a picture of cribraria (a genus of slime mold first described by Christiaan Hendrik Persoon in 1794) which struck me as beautiful. So I looked up other images, and drew one. It looks space-alien-like.

Amoebozoa - Mycetozoa - Myxogastria - Liceida - Cribrariaceae - Cribraria.
Specifically, in this case, cribraria vulgaris.

This was far more interesting than the final benefits spam calls I received while drawing, from recorded entities variously named Hannah, Doris, Dorothy, and other nice white appellations, female, and sounding reassuringly Anglo American. To all of which I responded venomously in Cantonese before either they or I hung up cursing. An esteemed colleague, who is quite aware that I only receive garbage calls ninety nine point nine nine nine percent of the time, encourages me to carry my cellphone wherever I go. She may simply be as fascinated by foul language in Cantonese as I am by slime molds.

In Cantonese, slime molds are 篩黏菌屬 ('sai nim kwan suk'). In Dutch: slijmzwammen. The latter is probably easier to drop into one's daily speech, assuming one is conversing with Dutch speakers, than "sai nim kwan suk", which may not make any sense at all to the average Cantonese speaker.

One of the phone calls was from Louisiana. Should have called her a sai nim kwan suk and told her to inhabit a damp place (去住潮濕嘅地方啦！'heui jyu chiu sap ge dei fong laa ').
Oh wait. Louisiana. Probably filled with slime molds.



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SNAKE OIL

It is never too late to expose children to the depravity of religion. That way they'll be prepared for the Republican Party and its disregard for justice and humanity.
Disillusioned, perhaps. But realistic.

A recent dream involved a Catholic girl's school. Now, while I consider the students of one of the local schools just darling, the mere fact that they are indoctrinating the little kiddie winkies in religion there appalls me. I vividly recall the Catholic boys school on the Kromstraat in Valkenswaard as spewing, year after year, some of the most horrid little bigots on the planet. They were absolutely convinced that all of us heretics were destined to burn eternally, but felt justified in trying to make us miserable before that blessed event.
American Christianity is very much like that.


Of course, here people do that for profit.


That's the sole raison d'etre for television preachers.

Years ago I attended bible study sessions for three weeks because the preacher's wife was cute as the dickens and redefined the word "eye candy", oh heavens yes, a sweet little thing. One of the other attendees was a sad little pudding of a man who many years later I would occasionally encounter clutching his copy of the holy book until at last he fell in with a fat homosexual. So maybe Jesus leads to guilt-ridden slightly less than satisfying gay sex. Who knows? In any case, I finally gave up because I couldn't stand the pablum idiocy anymore. They were from Texas. I think they finally moved to a less cynical city.
We're just too sinful here.


America has many depraved versions of Christianity. The Deep South is littered with them. As good a reason to avoid the red states as any. Yeah, the food is okay, but the people are utterly batshit. Take a good look at Florida and Texas.


Faith healing scams, lavish life styles, and misappropriation of funds.
Charitable organizations riddled with Christians.
As well as illiterates.



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HALF HEAT

A friend posted a picture of his feet resting in a bucket of water to cool off while smoking a cigar. Where he was, it had crossed into supratropical. So I commented: "At the moment it's sixteen degrees Celsius in SF. You are in Fresno?" He's fifteen hours flight time away. The Netherlands. I shall not judge the appearance of his pink pink PINK toesie-woesies.

Yesterday evening I stepped out for a pipe there was fog at both ends of the block.
Visible vapour gently billowing under the street lights.
It was very pleasant.

Dang, those were some frighteningly pink toesie-woesies!

I have not actually looked to see how mine compare. Technically my friend and I are the same ethnic and folkloristic derivation, though my ancestry has some Scot and American Indian in the distant woodwork, as my folks have been here for many generations. But when nobody is watching we occasionally put on our heavy wooden clogs and windmill dresses and dance under the moonlight to the bellowing of bullfrogs, the music of the night.

We are still devoted to our eternal plot to take over the entire world for the united company and its seventeen lords. As well as team orange eventually winning the world cup.

Undoubtedly my friend is on exactly the same page.
Despite his aching toesie-woesies.

Anyhow, the point is that we are very phlegmatic people quite unused to the extraordinary heat that the Anglos and their global warming behaviour have cursed us with. This is quite unheard of. And horribly unfair. Why, Fresno is now entirely off-limits. So is Modesto. Sacramento is only a little bit better, but still absolutely ghastly.
Which nixes our plans entirely.

And yeah, those wildfires in Southern California, Spain, France, and Greece?

I don't think we'll be invading there anytime soon.

I guess you're all off the hook.


The weather outside this morning is quite bearable, and it looks like it will be very pleasant for the next six or seven days. Unfortunately this means that the foreign visitors and tourists from the rest of the country will enjoy their stay, and may tell their friends back home to visit San Francisco in the summer. Which I don't want, good heavens. The number of pink pink PINK people wandering into the bakery yesterday to look at the lovely pastries and ask meaningful questions that couldn't be answered was ginormous.
Had to wade through them.

Like hacking through the tall grasses with a machete. A flame thrower would have been useful. I'm thinking of wearing dark sackcloth and a pointy bird-beak mask, wailing "the plague, the plague" wherever I leave the house these days.

I didn't want to go to Fresno anywhow.
It's a horrible place.



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NINETEENTH AND NORIEGA

No thank you, I don't need a seat. I've been sitting down for the last hour listening to two old men trying to get their mental bearings on Nineteenth and Noriega. So I have had plenty of gluteal rest, as well as an intellectual clobbering. No, I didn't set them straight. They were born here and have lived in the city all their lives. And they were both right.

At around four o'clock I turned into the bakery for some tea and a pastry. Where three customers recognized me, one of them being a birdlike old lady who spent ten minutes marveling at my Mandarin and Cantonese. Okay, that latter ain't bad. But my Mandarin is crap. Still, apparently I am smart as blazes, because her son doesn't speak either.


So far over a dozen people recognized me on the street in Chinatown today. Several of them refered to me in conversation with others as daai lou (大佬). Which is better than ah sook (阿伯), which means uncle and can generically be used for any old dude. Daai lou means 'older brother'. Also 'triad boss', 'important fella', 'the big dude'. OG, homey, the dude. A senior level operative. A kinsman. Edler brother. It's more familiar than uncle, but it has a certain amount of seniorage.

Heard a kid hollering for her grandpa to hold up a bit. 爺爺 ('ye ye'), which is used in both Mandarin and Cantonese. In Mandarin, it often sounds affectionate, cringing, and suggestive of the helplessness of the very young. In Cantonese, it's more matter of fact. Hey, old man. There is almost an implication that eventually the youngster will walk much faster, be more vibrant, and catch up. It just sounds different, okay?

Nineteenth Avenue runs North-South, Noriega East-West. The ninety-year old had recently eaten at a new restaurant there, where the portions are huge. The other ninety-year old then automatically assumed that it was a Cantonese restaurant, which hadn't been stated -- and the first ninety-year old had not mentioned what he had eaten there, so it could not be inferred either -- and was desirous of knowing where it was exactly.

This all came down within five minutes of both of them arriving. Then for the next hour both of them agreed that this way was North, that way South, one of the streets was Noriega, which was intersected. And that Noriega did not run North-South, as well as that it intersects. Also that Stockton did, whereas Jackson, one block away, did not. Which to one of them did not relate at all to Noriega and Nineteenth, despite any directional similarities.
Noriega runs East-West, Nineteenth goes North-South.

Meanwhile, practising both my memory and calligraphy, I wrote down on a napkin what I had eaten for lunch: 香酥魚柳包 · 薯條 ('heung sou yü lau baau, sue tiu'). fish sandwich and fries.

Yeah no, there's nothing else I can contribute to a discussion of map quest dinner when you two uncles are so agreeably disagreeing while both of you are saying the same thing.
I don't think either of you should drive, that's all.

It's all kind of like me giving my elderly Indonesian Chinese downstairs neighbor a bag with fresh fruits and vegetables every week. Which is actually a polite non-prying way to make sure she's alright. That's why I'm having tea and pastry here.
I'm just glad all of y'alls still kicking.


And please, none of you drive.



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SHPLOP!

You know those little green baggies for picking up after your dog? What's the point of doing that and then leaving the baggie on the sidewalk filled with Donald Trump? It seems so odd. "Look at me, I am a responsible adult", immediately followed by "not gonna carry this, need that hand for my cellphone". Or something. Perhaps they had an uncontrollable cheek itch and needed that hand. It was a right hand, they had to shake it. They didn't want to confuse the baggie and the Doritos. Or the dog suddenly did another Pete Hegseth. They felt so used carrying their dog's Kash Patel, it was humiliating! Something came up and they just had to drop Pam Bondi and run. They met a friend and forgot all about Karoline Leavitt.

There's still a faint stain in front of the building from some hound's phenomenal Jared Kushner during the first month of the pandemic, which will probably never come out.

Two of them on the way home from the bus tonight.


Remarkably, we had had a long conversation about canines we knew after leaving the bar. Engaging personalities and behavioural quirkiness, without even once mentioning their most eccentric habit, that being sniffing privy parts. I would imagine that there are some humans who do that too when they are among themselves, as it imparts all kinds of useful information.

This morning I opened up the sample envelope, and examined its contents. The testing requisition form, biohazard bag, and sterile padding, and the prepaid envelope for the test lab, were all missing. The instructions specifically mentioned them in a precise order. So before getting my haircut I popped over to the hospital, to the 抽血室，to ask questions. Turns out that they would take care of several things, all I had to do was drop off the sealed tube in the same envelope it had come in. What they didn't mention is that seeing as a large part of their patient demographic is elderly Cantonese they were probably making sure that everything went right. That clientele is kind of notorious for dropping stitches when it comes to instructions in English. Or just not even reading the page.

Ladies and gentlemen, that's what your English-speaking children are for.
Oh wait, you have no intention of listening to them, do you?
You can't take instructions from youngsters.

My barber(阿明 Ah Ming) strongly advised me to look for a Cantonese girlfriend, as "they are so obedient" (姖哋好聽話 'keui tei hou teng waa'). I could hear his wife rolling her eyes in the background. I should have told him that that isn't what you get a helpmeet for. Strongminded stubborness, that's the ticket. That way she'll respect you continuing to smoke a pipe despite the repulsive perversity, and won't take it as a personal offense. Obedience ain't a desirable characteristic in an equal. It comes back to bite you. His wife might have asked him where he came up with that nonsense after I left and lit up. 唔好講廢話！

That's based on my own experience, and the enduring friendship with my ex.

I should have stayed friends with my ex from the Berkeley years, but I was an idiot in those days. I've gotten better. She ended up marrying a lawyer and moving to the East Coast.

The other thing about strongminded stubborness is that way she'll have your back if that proves necessary. Either with an automatic, or a sliderule and compass-clinometer.
Hypothetically speaking, of course. Neither of you should go into the badlands.


The evening was enjoyable. Pip, hot tea, dog talk.
Avoided the karaoke bar entirely.
There was yowling.



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GREAT AGAIN?

There is a major outbreak of respiratory disease at 'Alligator Alcatraz', quite possibly covid. So now the Republicans are, actually, killing people. Which, in combination with destroying public health by means of Trump's Big Beautiful Bill, and enpowering RFK jr. should soon turn this country into a diseased dystopia that will please the billionaires immensely.

The National Guard is being deployed against the populace.

ICE is recruiting collaborators and psychopaths.


An opinion now gaining traction is that America will be great again when the last Republican Fascist is strung up by his intestines on a lamp post and the last Christian Nationalist pastor is castrated. As yet it's only an opinion, one of many stupendous ideas about how to improve society. And far be it from me to advocate violence against the rightwing scum currently terrorizing the country, as I am a peaceful mild-mannered man.

My only concern is living in harmony with nature.

Remember that carrion eaters are our friends, nature's clean-up crew, improving the country one cadaver at a time. I look forward to the day when there will be thriving colonies of them in every financial district and gated community, happily preening themselves and well-fed, precisely like they were when America was still glorious.

They are delightful creatures.

Our national bird.



Yeah, I'm making a list of entities that would make suitable sustenance for our feathered companions as well as kindling when the time comes. It is good to be emotionally ready.



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SMELLS LIKE CLEAN OUT THERE

Sometimes one wakes up far too early, but fully refreshed. Which means that, failing to go back to sleep, one lies there with weird stuff going through the head, before seeing that it's already getting rather light out there and perhaps one should have some coffee because yeah, um, can't nap anyway and it's probably going to be time for a pipe soon.

One of my friends showed me his dad's old briars recently. Made by a Parisian company not normally known for briars. Nice pieces, well taken care of. I have one from the same company, later vintage.

A large part of growing up and becoming an adult is the expanding realization that much has been lost, and gradually starting to preserve the things that bring back moods and revive memories and emotions one has come to value.

For him, among those things are his father's pipes, which he now smokes.
Not the same tobacco. And he tried Royal Yacht.
Which made him slightly sick.


Pipe Stud in Texas loves the stuff. Inexplicably.
I suspect that it might be a memory issue.

Georges Simenon, the Duke of Edinburgh, and Prince Bernhard of the Netherlands also smoked Royal Yacht. One can ascribe this in part to the times in which they lived. Back in the old days, if your local tobacconists did not carrysomething you wouldn't have heard of it, and many merchants were known to be rather odd gentlemen with peculiar senses of humour. "Here", they would say, "this is a splendid product made be a respectable company". And obediently you'd end up smoking 'Clapthong's Festering Mixture' through all your university years, and mail-order it from the same tobacconist when you were posted to Upper Burma for over a decade. Where of course there were no reputable stores and you depended on Clapthongs staying in business and not messing with a solid blend, your pipe merchant in Exeter maintaining a stable supply, and the Royal Mail being as predictable as the tides.


"Clapthong's Festering; none finer!"


Two tobaccos which bring back the entire mood of the past are Capstan (formerly by W.D. and H.O. Wills) and Peterson's Flake with the blue and white label (branded as Dunhill till 2018, but made in Denmark for the past two decades).

The smell of coffee brewing, whisps of Virginia, and the crisp morning air on the street out there. It smells like North Beach across the hill, and many years ago.
As well as North Brabant decades before.



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