BASEMENT DWELLING GREY STEAK EATERS

It is probably clear to everyone at this point that the Trump regime is trying its very darndest to provoke a dangerous situation in Los Angeles. With Fox News, The Western Journal, The Daily Caller, Washington Examiner, and the New York Post happily egging them on in the collective role of Joseph Goebbels. Or is that Karoline Leavett? No matter.

Worth noting is that the trolls commenting online have gotten clumsier and more transparent. Not all of them are slope-browed morons from places like Placerville, some of them are now pretending to be retired police and security. With no friends. Hundreds of followers. No interests. Hundreds of up-votes. No actual posts anywhere.
Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of likes.

And multiple misspellings which humanize them.

Tech bro nazi symps, in other words.

And a few Christians from Iowa.

Undoubtedly a few of them are in downtown offices near Market Street, agonizing over their lack of a sex life, and why can't they find an quiescent female who wishes to be a trad wife type? They earn enough, they have a car, and the basement, really, is quite comfortable. They'll even clean up and throw away the empty cheeto packages if she comes over.
And they also have gym memberships! They are with-it! Hip!

Plus they have hundreds and hundreds of likes!
Which proves something.



You know, it baffles me that so many people sneer at ketchup on steak. Why is that? Surely adding a vegetable component increases the nutritional value and makes what would otherwise be a boring troglodyte dining experience more complex and nuanced?
As well as contributing necessary flavour and contrast?

It just adds balance and makes food an adventure.
A sound diet is extremely important.


The patriotic condiment.
Ketchup.



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LESBIANS AND JIMMY O YANG

When I woke up I remembered a crowded party in someone's house, with a lot of lesbians in attendance, and major problems with the bathroom involving buckets of water. And a cat who stood above it all, precariously balanced on the waste basket. While frantically hunting for more buckets among the throng of happy wet-footed lesbians I ran into Jimmy O Yang who looked at me like he was severely disappointed, he had really expected better of me.
He pointed at all the buckets behind me which I had overlooked.
You stupid fool, he seemed to say.
The angry cat agreed.

Quasi-therapeutic neural activity is a terrible thing to waste.

In fact, I currently know very few lesbians, and Jimmy O Yang not at all. But somehow I feel that he would disapprove mightily of everything he might imagine me doing.

I am fairly certain that Jimmy O Yang knows lesbians.
Whether he knows that or not.

Some of his distant lesbians probably speak Shanghainese, as he does, so he has that in common with them. None of mine do. I do not know any Shanghainese lesbians.
This is very likely a grievous failing on my part.
No wonder Jimmy is disappointed.

TORNADO

It would probably be great fun to party with Shanghainese lesbians and Jimmy O Yang. The food would be fabulous. The fried eels (酥煎鱔魚). The red stew pork (紅燒肉). The squirrel fish with pine nuts (松鼠鱖魚). The fried thickish noodles (上海炒麵). The stirfried freshwater shrimp (清炒河蝦).

Fabulous food, great company, sparkling conversation.

This is on my bucket list, but the closest I'll probably come is visiting Shanghai someday.



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THE UN-WARMNESS OF IT ALL

It is desirable that I do not doomscroll. For my own sanity. Because everytime I do that for over an hour I wish to go outside and commit righteous mayhem, perhaps on some innocent tourist from the red buthole part of the country. Which would not be good, because it isn't open season on them yet.

As usual I left for Chinatown to rendezvous with my pub-crawling compa, and spent a while smoking my pipe while waiting. There are occasional loonies on the street after dark, as well as far too many visiting Caucasians speaking English. Might be a convention in town.

I'm beginning to understand why Europeans complain about Americans being too loud. Sometimes you can hear them from over a block away. Shrill and brassy.
Kindly pipe down, you horrid blonde cow.

The local Chinese are, even in groups, quiet enough that they have to be passing right in front of you to tell whether they're speaking Mandarin or Cantonese. Or Toisanwaa.

At one point a cute little moppet whizzed past on a child's step-scooter. She smile sweetly at me, and I smiled back. And nodded at her father when he came past.
Sometimes I'm so human I surprise myself.

Often I might seem unfriendly. When out smoking my pipe, especially at this time of year, the chill gets to me even when I'm wearing sufficient layers, especially when there's a fierce breeze on some streets (wind patterns change by the block in this city), and I am often less socially inclined than you would think. In San Francisco, being out on the street at night will expose one to conversational attempts from very odd people.

No, I did not know that we have a government of sex-vampires, nor was I aware that the Bilderburgers are responsible for this. And organs! Apparently this is well known.

I did not expose my ignorance of this, but nodded sagely.
It didn't seem like a vocal response was needed.
He continued entirely without prompting.
But moved further down the street.


By the time the bookseller arrived there were no unbalanced people about, and the burger joint was sparsely filled. The beer place where we headed afterwards was crowded, so we went directly to the karaoke place where there were only two other customers and nobody was singing. After a few moments one of them did sing -- Cantopop, and more for himself than anyone else -- one song only, after which calm returned.

We also dropped by the bail-out bar to say 'hi' to miss Vivien and have some more whisky and tea, then head up the road toward the bus stop for the rid up the hill.

There have been colder nights in San Francisco.
During January and February.




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VERY MOIST DREAMING

Hypothetical conversation, somewhere in Washington: "first we get rid of them foreigners, that's what the racist goon squad (ICE) is for. Then we arrest liberals, vandals, goths, and loud people, we've co-opted the National Guard for that. Then we send in a Marines platoon to clean-up the place and repopulate it with loyal Red State folks and morons from Alabama and Tennessee." "Well gee Bob that's brilliant." After this brief exchange, all the officials around the table feast lavishly on hamberders. Mmm, hamberders!

From outside, distantly, the sound of chuckleheads chanting 'Amurika, Amurika' can faintly be heard. There is adulation, and everybody is happy.


Nothing says 'success' like a column of tanks rolling down Wilshire Boulevard.


The LAPD were NEVER the good guys. Just keep that in the back of your head. And they'll gladly collaborate. Remember that incident where they nearly destroyed a wheelchaired cripple during the BLM protests while laughing gleefully?

They've had it in for the unwealthy ever since the Rodney King riots.
Crowd control is best achieved with flame throwers.
Homan and Hegseth will help.

It's a glorious time for obedience. From Fox News headquarters we can hear, distantly, the sound of chuckleheads chanting 'Amurika, Amurika!'

An amazing day, tanks, planes, all sorts of things! We'll win the war, and we're going to be celebrating big, and if there's any protest, they will be met with very big force. Los Angeles will be burning just like it was burning a number of months ago, we're not playing around.

Naturally, Fox News, The Western Journal, The Daily Caller, NewsNation, and all the talking rutabagas are on board with that. Their reporters are getting soggy panties just from thinking about it.

America loves the sound of boots in the morning, it sounds like victory.
Let's go bigly surfing later. Covfefe!



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TRY TO REMEMBER THIS

If the National Guard use live rounds, it is quite pointless to shoot back. Never take on an enemy stronger than you. Always wear down their support system instead. As an entirely theoretical example, you probably know several Republicans. Also please remember that vehicles and buildings sometimes are, entirely hypothetically, also weak spots. Do NOT, repeat, not, look up where the local Republican Party Headquarters is, and similarly DO NOT think of researching the mating habits of the college Republicans on campus.
Threatening to do anything to such vulnerable targets would be illegal.
Likewise the local affiliate of Fox News.
This is ALL theoretical.
And hypothetical.


Banana for scale.
Contents under pressure.
Terms and conditions may apply.
Consult your family doctor when in doubt.


Also, please do remember that if the U.S. Marines get deployed to the zone, they are your friends, neighbors, and family members. Cherished kinfolk. Any live rounds that they fire at unarmed demonstrators are purely accidental and defensive. They panicked.
They're fragile. This is all very traumatizing for them.

This blogger is a woman of peace, convinced that Republicans intend the best for us, though we may not be able to see it all the time. They mean nothing but good. Besides, they are mostly Christians, and filled with sweetness and light.

The Red States are the real America, filled with pure unsullied people we should respect and cherish, hardworking Fox News watching folk who pay their taxes and only wish blessings for everyone. We are all in this together.


Trump is your friend.


Think about The kittens. And butterflies.
The pretty, pretty flowers.
Peace.



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KITTEN KILLING PERVERT

As a matter of personal conviction, the first amendment of the constitution is a matter of holy writ. And I personally hold that freedom of expression can and should have few limitations. So Tommy Tuberville opining that Governor Newsom should be arrested, while insane and treasonous, is absolutely covered. Likewise, when I say that Tuberville and Alabama are both shitholes, that, too, is protected. But unlike Tuberville, whose freedom of expression may well qualify as performance art, my statement is pure unadluterated fact. Shitholes.
Like so many of the Republican politicians and red states.

Alabama, Florida, Louisiana, Mississipi, and Texas are in fact the perfect paradigms of shitholes. More shithole than that it cannot get. Eleven.

Also, under certain circumstances, incendiary devices are the overlap of the first amendment, the second amendment, and the pursuit of happiness.

Not just a functional tool for lighting your cigarette.
Or getting the backyard grill going.

Please, little butterfly, feel free to express yourself.

You will note that the illustration above is not based on any recent experiences, and does not represent material I currently own. But if I ever visit Alabama, that could change.
Do syphilitic illiterates burn? It's a scientific question.



By the way, there are NO videos of Tummy Tuberville clubbing kittens to death.
Plenty of rumours, but no actual hard evidence.
Might be a tradition.



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FEEDING SOULS

Left for Chinatown shortly before eight thirty, got to my eyedoctor's at around quarter to nine. There is great stability there, next appointment in October. Haircut, during which Ming had a video of a restaurant in the Sunset District (日落區：陳正燒臘飯店。3040 Taraval Street) on screen, featuring Hong Kong style roast goose. I do not think he drooled on my head while he was snipping -- he really loves roast goose -- and it did look delicious.

So naturally after that, despite the early hour, I went to eat.
Needed sustenance before smoking my pipe.
Oddly peckish.


豬肝瘦肉粥、油條、一杯熱港式奶茶。


Pork liver and lean pork congee, an oil strip, and a hot cup of Hong Kong style milk tea. Sik baau la, and wired to the tits when I lit up upon leaving the restaurant. No, I didn't go off to the sunset for eaties, I was in Chinatown and knew a place.

Perhaps I heard somewhere that pork liver is good for the eyesight. Don't remember where. But it definitely is good for the soul, and congee (rice porridge) is comforting. Given that it's not exactly Summer weather (meaning that it precisely is Summer weather) in San Francisco, that's what was needed.

I put on a sweater once I got home.

Perhaps I should take a nap now.



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YOU ARE NOT INVISIBLE

As a long time resident of San Francisco I am of course keenly cognizant of the vocalizations that convince the people around you that you are unstable, possibly a psychopath. Quite a connoisseur, in fact. Muttering 'tuck, tuck, tuck' with slight variations and pauses on the bus, for instance, will cause people to gradually draw away. Also, whispering 'yes, ye-e-es, yis' conspiratorily to yourself will make them vacate the seat in front of you where you wanted to sit, and they had selfishly had plonked themselves into several stops before you got on.

Try it yourself. You will love the results.
Don't thank me, I'm a giver.

Yes. Ye-e-es.

These are things I pondered while walking up the street with my pipe, soundlessly to myself, which was good, because I ran into a former neighbor, whom I do not wish to convince of my insanity, because that's something I am extremely comforable with him not knowing anything at all about. Ye-e-es.

Tuck, tuck, tuck.

Nob Hill at six o'clock was foggy, with glowing streetlights more visible because of brightness than the actual shapes of the buildings. A gradation of pastel hues proceeding up hill. Rather nice with so few people about, not even the usual pedestrians pooing their dogs.

Before loading up my pipe and stepping out I had slammed a cup of strong coffee. I have an appointment with the eye-doctor early, and it's easier convincing them that I have eyes if they are glowingly awake rather than baggy and overcast.

They're observing you right now. Peering, ghostlike, around the edges of buildings from dark sockets under overhanging eyebrow ridges. I can see you.



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THE UNHINGED WATERING HOLE

Last night Whisky Pete and Pedo Don (aka the orange shitbag) declared war on California. So it's only a matter of time before some trigger happy yutz from Placer County goes too far. Thank heavens we're not Texas or Louisiana where every one is an ignorant inbred gun nut with a pick-up truck and a six pack of Coors.

[Louisiana is basically the same as Placer county, just dumber. If you can imagine it.]

Now, while it's tempting to torch every vehicle with a red state license plate on the roads in California, I would beg you not to do so. The owners might be refugees from there, who said to themselves "darnitall, I just can't hack these dumb ass inbred goombas here in Kentucky related to themselves six different ways, I need to get out of here and flee to civilization", and then packed their family into the stationwagon and headed cross country, never mind having no job awaiting them. A doctor, a lawyer, a gardener or restaurant worker. Actual human beings, not slope-browed Bubba with six digits on each hand and foot, and an IQ in the low double digits -- representative of the people in that locale -- and one really should take the time to make sure one doesn't incinerate innocents or smash their car with a crowbar.
Unless they're driving a Tesla Cybertruck or a have a Trump bumpersticker.
Even then, that could just be protective colouration.

Today the boys in the backroom (mostly superannuated rightwing hosebags) spent over half an hour ranting about testicles before the judicial member came in and distracted them with a discourse on constitutional law as he remembers it from half a century ago when he still had a functioning brain. Back when he wouldn't have associated with people like that because he was superior, still had his balls, felt like he was on the winning side of class war and the sexual revolution.

Now of course he's just a pathetic hatefilled old hack, retired, and married to a vicious anticommunist sexpot significantly younger than him angling for his pension.

Think 'trophy wife-piranha'. The type that Marin is full of.



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SMELL THAT, SON? PETROL!

Apparently unleashing an economic crisis on the country wasn't enough, now the pedophile adderall addict has sent the gestapo into Los Angeles. And, as usual, the Republicans plus the media are cheering it on. It will be interesting to see what everyone's least favourite batshit billionaire apartheid-baby says about this. Oh, the entertainment is endless!

And we'll finally find out how combustible government issue body armour is.

These are interesting times.

You know, I've always been intellectually inquisitive.

During the height of the BLM protests members of the LA Police Department were filmed shooting a wheelchair-bound homeless man with rubber bullets from relatively close range so many times he lost consciousness. So I wonder what they'll do when faced with crowds of able-bodied angry people. My guess is that they'll probably be on video beating a legless veteran with rubber truncheons till he has no teeth left. Which will be another victory for America's rightwing Christians, because, well, you know. Freedom! Jesus!

Your favourite moments, brought to you by Fox News.
Go on, have a burger and fries with that.

Trump's birthday parade should be very exciting. Flags, bunting, confetti, and candies for all the thousands of little blonde kiddies. All true Americans are looking forward to this, oh it will be so festive, hot dog sellers in the crowd, balloons, and jugglers! Mimes!

Yes, finally we have a president who embodies our aspirations, our hopes, and our dreams! A man who struggled his way upward and out of the gutter, and got an education that prepared him for success as an astronaut, brain surgeon, and entrepreneur, plus movie and television star AND sex idol the girls love. Arkansas and Oklahoma never had it so good!

Just ask him! He'll tell you.

With plentiful cheap gasoline, everything is possible.
Free airplanes! Gold toilets
Endless golf!



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A BLEAKNESS OF THE SOUL

So Elon and Donald have mutually decided that the bromance is over. OVER! They never want to see the other man again. All that's left is deciding who gets custody of J. D. Vance. Neither want the putz or the couch, but someone has to take him.

The boys in the backroom are still in a state of denial. Which means they've been more than unbearable, worse than before. The member of the judicial branch ranted about the Chinese for over an hour, following which he went on about Latinos. This convinces me that he's irredeemable. I kind of knew that. The others not only encouraged him, but joined in. Repulsive cretins.

On the way into work I ran into an old acquaintance, who was surprised when I described the member of the judicial branch as being divorced from reality, out of his mind, and staggering into senility. Of course, they're all mentally off and morally crippled, which is why they enjoy each others company, vote the solid fascist ticket, and have no real friends.

For Christmas this year I want an electric cattle prod.

Other than about a dozen or so human anomalies, I have realized that the creatures of which am I fondest in Marin County are the turkey vultures circling elegantly over the marshes and disposing of the Karens who strayed into the swamp.

Remarkable birds. Lovely plumage!

And the crows.



For the rest, Marin kan me echt gestolen worden.




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KEEP YOUR FAITH HEALER ON SPEED DIAL

It isn't just bird flu and different strains of Covid. Now there's also a brand spanking new virus poised to become human-tolerant: HKU5. From Wikipedia: Pipistrellus bat coronavirus HKU5 (Bat-CoV HKU5) is an enveloped, positive-sense single-stranded RNA (+)ssRNA mammalian Group 4 Betacoronavirus discovered in Japanese Pipistrellus in Hong Kong.

Also:
The exact means of transmission to humans is not yet well known. However, it has been demonstrated that betaCoV's including HKU5 have the propensity to recombine and cause interspecies transmission.

The phrase that keeps cropping up in newsreports is "one small mutation away".

You're probably overjoyed that RFK Jr is in charge of our health now.

From The National Library Of Medicine, National Center For Biotechnology Information: Merbecoviruses comprise four viral species with remarkable genetic diversity: MERS-related coronavirus, Tylonycteris bat coronavirus HKU4, Pipistrellus bat coronavirus HKU5, and Hedgehog coronavirus 1. However, the potential human spillover risk of animal merbecoviruses remains to be investigated. Here, we reported the discovery of HKU5-CoV lineage 2 (HKU5-CoV-2) in bats that efficiently utilize human angiotensin-converting enzyme 2 (ACE2) as a functional receptor and exhibits a broad host tropism. [END CITE]

That's all a bit complicated, but what it basically means is that as long as you regularly take large amounts of vitamin A and Cod Liver Oil, plus probably apple cider vinegar, you have nothing to fear and don't need to wear a mask if you live in Texas.

The Japanese house bat (pipistrellus abramus), Japanese pipistrelle) is a cute little chiropter found all over East Asia that eats bugs and flying insects. A very useful little beast. Fits in the palm of your hand.

Again, Texans who take vitamin A and cod liver oil (an essential ingredient in Texan cuisine) have nothing to fear, especially if they only associate with Christians. So send all of your fragile immunocompromised family members and the children to Texas.

But just in case, stock up on toilet paper, colloidal silver, methanol, chlorine dioxide, chloroquine, hydroxychloroquine, antihistamines, nasal spray, and ivermectin.


If you're not a Texan or Christian, don't bother, it won't help.
You probably won't need all that toilet paper either.
Remember, vaccination means nano-chips.
And masks diminish oxygen.



Booga booga.



By the way: An extract of toilet paper with a tablespoon of bleach and a cup of nasal spray has been shown to be extremely effective. That's a fact. Add sugar to taste.



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BIG BUTCH JEW

A friend in Israel is pleased that with everything else looking wrinkled, dessicated, antique, wrecked, and like clapped-out old fossil, at least his calves are reasonably presentable (according to him), so he'll be wearing shorts for a while.

Well, more power to him.

I've seen old man calves.

So I shall neither follow suit nor render judgement.

Weapon Of Mass Destruction? Maybe. I'm not there. I'll leave it to his neighbors. If they wish to do an intervention, that's entirely up to them.

This is gay pride month, despite what our current government thinks, and showing off your attributes is part of any pride parade, even if it's only one person marching to his own drum.

By the way: in a pinch hummus can be used as a sun screen.
Apply it liberally for top appetizing effect.
Your kinfolk will thank you.


Please imagine hairy legs slathered in goo.



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NO DOGS, JOGS, OR DONUTS

Gave cherries to my landlady yesterday, and snow pears to my downstairs front neighbor the Indonesian Chinese woman, along with a jar of Lee Kum Kee Curry Sauce (李錦記咖喱醬 'lei gam gei gaa lei jeung'). Because of course, being Jakartan, and Chinese, a mild curry flavour is desirable. Personally I prefer spicier, and a little bit more complex. But I tend toward extremism. A taste more unbalanced. Plus plenty chilies.


I'm fairly certain my landlady is not into such things. She was born here, and is Cantonese. She tends more toward a New York culinary aesthetic. Butteriness, bagels, cheesecake, stuff like that. You know, things that by me are exotic. Whereas curry is something just a little too upcountry Dutchman. And sambal is my primitive failing.

It's very Dutch to like exaggeration, that still stays at the edge of reality.


Which probably explains why I'm seriously into caffeine. Start the day with a thundering jolt. My apartment mate, on the other hand, likes warm milk diluted with weak tea, such as one would give a child. It seems to work for her. Me, I'd go back to sleep after drinking that.

A short coffee in the evening is perfect for enjoying the remaining few hours of the day without slipping off, and it leads to vibrant dreams.

The image above represents precisely such a dream, which started in the Indian Restaurant where I worked three evenings a week for over a decade. Fond memories, plus drama, and ghee. Masala chai; too weak, really, but stronger and much better. than the slop served at coffee chains to white people.

It also represents wandering around Nob Hill after that first cup of coffee, preoccupied and enjoying the last bit of darkness before dawn, largely ignoring joggers, dog-pooers, and people heading down to Polk Street for donuts. Corners in the shadows of the mind.


Ideally, the day should start with curry noodle soup.
Plus coffee and a newspaper to dawdle over.
Then the pipe and tobacco.



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THE FOGGIEST

She insisted that I have the fresh shrimp rice sheet noodles (新鮮腸粉 'sin haa cheung fan). And, beeing a stubborn old coot, and having already eaten, I insisted that she eat it.
Besides, shrimp is mother's milk to her. She's Cantonese.
They love shrimp. It's in their bones.

Earlier I had been at the bakery enjoying a pastry at teatime. Where Stephen mentioned that he was trying out new hearing aids which he hated because everything sounded echoey, which was probably bone conduction wreaking havoc on his ability to parse.
So yes, I had indeed eaten already. Plus lunch earlier.
And tea. Plenty of tea.

Got to use my languages today. Cantonese, Mandarin, English, and Dutch. The Cantonese in connection with food. The English talking with Stephen and Robert. The Mandarin while augmenting my transit card, with a fellow Caucasian who works surrounded by Cantonese speakers but speaks Mandarin, as well as an elderly Toishanese gentleman who doesn't understand me when I talk Cantonese. The Dutch with two folks from Antwerpen after I heard one of them say "wablief", which is something only our people do. It means roughly I beg your pardon / what was that / eh what? More or less.

Huh?

Turns out they're here on their honeymoon.

Yes, they had already discovered that SF is far cooler than the rest of the state. By over thirty degrees at least. Here, we're wearing sweaters. Elsewhere folks are sunstroked, dehydrated, and skin cancered. Sweltering. Parched crusty sunburn.
We're in the fog zone here. Delightful.

By the way, because I found a seat at rush hour my eyes were more or less waist level with a charming young woman on the bus. I indicated that there was a seat nearby, but she mentioned that she was getting off soon, and did so at Leavenworth.
Nice intelligent face. I hope I see more of her.

She wore that sweater very well.



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A RIVER OF MANY MOODS

It's probably a good thing that the evening was uneventful. Although when we passed the karaoke joint it was packed with young white marketing types emoting. A slice of hell, worth avoiding. The burger place had some rap songs on the player, which sounded for all the world like someone summoning a daemon, and strictly old-school. A relatively peaceful respite, though. The beer hall was kind of packed, so bypassing the karaoke joint that we used to go to despite better judgement (which now we act upon) we headed over to Miss Vivien's. Which seems to have been discovered by white people.
But was considerably quieter.

They ought to make a law that white people can't drink in public until they've become adults, age forty or so. And are permanently disbarred from karaoke joints.
Or at least get restraining orders.

In case you're wondering, both the bookseller and I are over forty, and don't do karaoke.
Though we might quote at length from Monty Python's Flying Circus.
Which might include the Lumberjack Song.
Or the Philosophers.


Yes, I know all the words to We Love The Yangtse.

We love the Yangtse, Yangtse Kiang,
Flowing from Yushu, down to Ching Kiang.
Passing though Chung King, Wuhan, Hoo Kow,
3000 miles, but it gets there somehow.
Oh! Szechuan's the province, and Shanghai is the port,
And Yangtse is the river, that we all support!

Imagine both of us channeling for so many of Britain's top goalies.

That smoke while waiting for the bookseller to get off work was peaceful and wondrous. The bowl preceding the weekly pub crawl is always enjoyable, one of the best. I've smoked that Dunhill nearly as much as the Comoy Sunrise which used to be the Pipe For Watching Rats In Spofford Alley, which is, of course, still in the collection, albeit not in the current rotation. Sometimes a man needs change. I've been filling the same Charatan after Tuesday lunch for two or three months now instead of just winging it before I leave the house, and I know that tomorrow I'll probably have the same battered Shellbriar with me that has been the postprandial Wednesday puffer for over a year.


While walking up the street from the bus stop I passed a streetperson harvesting from the garbage can on the corner of the block. Rancid hegseth scattered all around him as he rooted through the rest of the hegseth in the bin.

At least I didn't step in any hegseth as I passed.


Why are so many of Britain's top goalies moved to write about the Yangtze?



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TRUMP'S WAR ON SCIENCE

It appears that the current regime is quite okay with people dying. Preventably, to be sure, but not prevented. If there arent repercussions and push-back now, we may see years of lawsuits after this period is over, followed by jail-sentences. And, I sincerely hope, firing squads for collaborators and quislings. Because medicine and public health cannot be dictated by party aparatchicks and commissars.

From The Guardian: "Senior officials at the US Department of Veterans Affairs have ordered that VA physicians and scientists not publish in medical journals or speak with the public without first seeking clearance from political appointees of Donald Trump,"

"The edict, laid down in emails on Friday by Curt Cashour, the VA’s assistant secretary for public and intergovernmental affairs, and John Bartrum, a senior adviser to VA secretary Doug Collins, came hours after the prestigious New England Journal of Medicine published a perspective co-authored by two pulmonologists who work for the VA in Texas."

And:

'The article warned that cancelled contracts, layoffs and a planned staff reduction of 80,000 employees in the nation’s largest integrated healthcare system jeopardizes the health of a million veterans seeking help for conditions linked to toxic exposure – ranging from Vietnam veterans exposed to Agent Orange to veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan who developed cancer after being exposed to smoke from piles of flaming toxic waste.

Quote: "As pulmonologists in the Department of Veterans Affairs (VA), we have been seeing increasing numbers of veterans with chronic bronchitis, pulmonary fibrosis, asthma, and other respiratory conditions," doctors Pavan Ganapathiraju and Rebecca Traylor wrote.'

SOURCE: US veterans agency orders scientists not to publish in journals without clearance

This, naturally, follows Robert F Kennedy Jr spouting nonsense about government scientists being forbidden from publishing in respected medical journals, as well as Trump's acting head of FEMA saying he had never heard of hurricane season. And please remember, according to this administration there is no such thing as climate change.

Look, I'm perfectly willing, as a private individual with no scientific credibility whatsoever, to agree with some chucklehead who volubly insists that climate change is nothing more than a DEI or Chinese hoax -- because I do not want the dumbass to pound my face -- but insisting that doctors and scientists adhere to rigid ideological purity will doom us a society. What's next? Burning witches? A repeat of what happened to Galileo? Blaming ailments on daemons and evil humours?

It's only a matter of time before exorcisms are offered as an alternative.


Oh yeah. We also slashed funding for avian influenza vaccination and covid.
Because "reasons". Woke or something.

I'm also quite amenable to several people dying of horrid diseases, and naturally I have a list, but in a fair world I do not get to decide who, and I damned well resent and am appalled by the idea of the government having that power.



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HEALTHILY EATING

If I am up at this hour and it's already light outside, it is time to take medications. So, dutifully, I pop my pills. And wonder how they interact with coffee. Mornings are coffee. The birds are probably also awake this early -- one usually hears them in the morning -- but probably just staring around bleakly wondering wether the early worm is the point, or is there more to life.

There is. It's Chinese sausage and preserved meats claypot rice (臘味煲仔飯 'laap mei pou jai faan'). Which is what the two young fellows at the table next to me were having for supper. Two non-Chinese. I commend them for exploratory sensibilities. But two identical orders. Dudes, share the food and have one order something else! Experiment! Discover!

The other people there were largely accompanied by their cell-phones, which are the modern equivalent of both a newspaper and an unfriendly scowl.

As an old-fashioned dude (old enough for blood pressure meds) that's something I don't need. My social skills are still good enough that an unfriendly scowl comes naturally.

In addition to observing my fellow diners I concentrated on my own food. Each spoonful accompanied by a dollop of Sriracha. Creamy cheesy ricy seafoody goodness!

And milk tea, of course. It's essential.

One of those goofy comfort food dishes that Hong Kong does so well. Baked seafood rice (焗海鮮飯 'guk hoi sin faan') in which béchamel, fish chunks, shrimp, and squidly bits, come together with egg fried rice and cheese under a broiler. Not the most visually appealing of things, even with the addition of peas for spots of colour. But it can be very satisfying.

Probably qualifies as heart attack on a plate, like almost everything good to eat. Fine for one, but good enough for two. If there had been two of me there would have also been something else so that we could pretend to eat virtuously and healthily. By the way, Sriracha hot sauce is a vegetable, so it's beneficial. Good for the arteries. Part of a balanced diet. Yeah.

Far be it from me to enjoy fried tofu and a salad.
That's far too white Berkeleyite for me.
What's the point of that?



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HAPPY CELEBRATION!

Not that there is any need to mention it, but I am neither gay nor transgender. As long-time readers know, I am a statuesque African American Amazon, early twenties.
Or at least, that's one of my spirit-beings.
And quite uninvolved.

Mostly asexual, but I've dabbled with women.
Mmm. Zesty. And curvaceous!
Soft.

This is relevant, because MAGA sportsfans have recently got their knickers in a twist over the New England Patriots posting a picture featuring a Pride Flag.

For the record, I do not watch sports if I can help it.
But many people do. Bless their hearts.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

I fervidly support any team that beats the San Francisco 49rs and pisses off the rightwing bastards in the backroom. As well as anything that seriously offends the Magats generally.

Which doesn't mean that I actually watch the game or drink beer in celebration.
But at least my heart is in the right place.

Happy Pride Month, y'all.

Make it count. Just don't wink at Bubba, because it shrivels his manhood and makes him feel hurty. He's kind of sensitive that way. Oh look, there's a butterfly!

Can't have Football without gaiety.
Lots and lots of gaiety.



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WELCOME, STRANGERS, PLEASE LEAVE

One of the best descriptions I ever came up with is "a bunch of snobby, snotty, blinkered, intolerant, stiff-arsed hatefilled self-righteous puss-barfing bigoted cretins". Which is a phrase that has numerous possible targets to which it can be applied. It also exemplifies that I am a harshly judgemental person with a great number of social types that I dislike.
And I'm rather pleased to be that way.

Also, I still wear a mask on public transit because I don't know where all those people have been or which toilet bowls they've been drinking out of. As an anal-retentive perfectionist, you can expect me to be picky and have neurotically high standards for toilet bowls.
Real, imaginary, or metaphorical.

There's a new Covid variant (NB.1.8.1) cropping up which is much more contagious than the current most popular strains. And I still do not want to catch it. That time when I caught Covid (two years ago) it seriously affected my inner ear and walking around the building was a pain in my shoulders, elbows, back, hips, knees, and once or twice my head, because I kept crashing into walls and furniture. No permanent damage.
Yes, I tested positive for a few days.
Hardly any other symptoms.

There is even less reason to trust the great American public than before. Especially with so many folks from elsewhere in the country visiting San Francisco and bringing their diseases and obnoxious Karen relatives with them. Entire family clusters of Typhoid Mary waddling around Union Square or the wharf just radiating attitude, pollution, and complacency.

Or, for that matter, taking public transit. And breathing.

If you're going to come to SF, the least you could do is NOT breathe.


A bunch of snobby, snotty, blinkered, intolerant, stiff-arsed hatefilled self-righteous puss-barfing bigoted cretins


That counts triple for people from the red states, especially Florida.
Y'all notorious for not getting vaccinated and carrying disease.
Also Alaska, Alabama, Louisiana, Mississipi, and Texas
Did anyone ever tell you you're nasty?


Sometime later today I'll be having a late lunch in Chinatown in a place where tourists are scared to go because everything is too foreign and they probably don't serve kung pao or sweet 'n sour anything.

After a few days of facing the public at work and on Golden Gate Transit, I have had more than enough of dealing with people. As well as their dogs, and their pigs or offspring, and their rural relations who start every conversation with "back in my day" and then say something both staggeringly irrelevant and ridiculous.

I need time to become human again.
That means locals only.
Hot sauce.

Real food.

Milk tea.



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NO HOPE FOR LOUISIANA

Forget Florida, man, Louisiana has it all. Crazy goombas, idiots, opportunistic politicians, paranoiacs, conspiracy theory nuts, drunks and syphilitics. Recently the Louisiana house overwhelmingly voted to ban chemtrails and chemicals in the air above the state.
They're upset about all kinds of things down there.

The field I'm in had a trade fair down in New Orleans about two months ago. During which, as you would expect, massive amounts of chemicals were in the air over the place where it was held. And chemical substances were both consumed and wastefully disposed of.

The major problem with chemicals in Louisiana, as everyone knows, is that those are in the food down there. Bugs and lizards ingest them, they're consumed by rats and other larger vermin, the snakes then hunt down those animals, and soon even larger animals -- mad cows, skunks, and feral pigs eat those -- and before you know it the chemicals are concentrated in the possums, nutria, and aligators, that the residents eat.

Boiled possum, sweet potatoes, and grits. In theory delicious.
Probably goes great with McIlhenny's Tabasco.
Washed down with Bud Light.
Or Abita.

Pray for Louisiana. They're addled.

It ain't just the mosquito-born diseases and the rabies.

There are unsubstantiated rumours that human spongiform encephalitis is cropping up in some of their swamp villages and trailer-park suburbs, especially near fast food courts, but that can probably be entirely discounted. It's not quite George Romero country yet.
More like Waiting For Guffman mixed with Deliverance.
Paddle faster, Cletus, I hear accordions.



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A HEALTHY AURA

Sometimes on foggy evenings you can close your eyes and imagine yourself in a place and time that you never actually were. Like pre-war Canton, after enjoying some dimsum at a charming restaurant near the trainstation before the heat of the day. Smoking the very same cigarettes that Mei Lanfang (梅蘭芳 'mui laan fong') a famous Peking Opera performer, allegedly loved. Or some other popular brand. Fragrant. Delicate. Delightful.

I mention this because I was outside just now smoking Wu Ye Shen (五葉神 'ng yip saan'), a satelite brand to those same ciggies, created over ninety years later (1999). Mei Lanfang passed on in 1961. My dinner had been some dimsum that my landlady gave us.
The temperature in San Francisco at present is low fifties.
Which is bitterly cold. Horrid.
No opera.

It's near ninety degrees Fahrenheit in Guangzhou right now.

Near my easy chair are two jars of sweeties good for smokers which my apartment mate hates; Autumn Pear Balsam Candy (秋梨膏糖 'chau lei gou tong') and Lemon & Arhat-fruit Candy (檸檬羅漢果糖 'ning mung lo hon gwo tong'). They're mildly beneficial to the breathing aparatus. Sadly, my ability to perform Peking Opera like Mei Lanfang is slightly below zero.
Quite irrespective of smoking and herbal bonbons.

Today a gentleman mentioned Sherman's MCDs. A luxury cigarette now long gone (half a decade, a lifetime for some people), but which had been a necessity for the educated smoker for over forty years. Neither Nat Sherman International nor that type of cigarette exist any more, and sadly, pedestrian shite dominates the market. The splendid Turkish ciggies in which I occasionally indulged during college are also gone, and Virginia tobacco non-filter English cigarettes likwise seem to be non-existent now.


Back in the day, a smoke now and then was considered excellent for the digestion and the bodily humours. It's still probably far better than bicarb or pink-dyed bismuth subsalicylate liquid and strawberry passionfruit vape juice.

Also more effective for the measles than vitamin A and codliver oil.
What all those antivaxxers need is a dose of tobaco.
That will set them right.


Good for their chakras too.



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AT LAST, JUSTICE!

My apartment mate detailed how Chinese people all seem to have neurotic tics, and went into great detail about it, talking about recent events involving people to whom she is related. Which was fascinating. She had to wonder how on earth the Chinese had been around for so long. The cumulative effects, surely, would have caused them to decrease in number?
Neurotic as all git out. Nuts.

Okay, Inside I'm laughing my head off.

Years ago when I had asked for a particular size of paper bag at a local bookstore for my purchases, so that I could fold it over exactly, with perfect, crisp, straight creased lines and ninety degree angles, she looked at me like I had all my screws loose. How on earth was I so neurotic? Were ALL people from the Netherlands like that? What on earth was wrong with me? And how had we survived so long, and conquered half the planet?

Especially when all anyone had to do to flummox us and bollix our evil plans would, probably, be to hang a picture fractionally askew, with a dab of superglue under one corner of the frame so that we could not possibly straighten it, and would waste hours trying.
We were neurotic as blazes, plain and simple.
Tics coming out the ears.

For years afterward she would bring up how I had demonstrated what needed to be done, just ever so, and had a little satisfied gloating smirk on my face like a happy toad upon completion of the task. There! A perfect fold. Mmm! Beauty!


Well okay. I was trained as a draughtsman. We're thrilled by straight lines and perfect angles. Why couldn't she, who had been tops in her classes for algebra and geometry, appreciate that? This is normal behaviour; we Dutch are, as everyone should absolutely recognize, totally normal. One hundred and ten percent angularily ninety degreed perfection.
We go up to eleven. One more than ten.

So it was with great pleasure that I heard that her tribe are stark raving bonkers.
We're normal, they are not. It's been conclusively proven.
Normal, normal, normal, normal.
Normal.


Hah!



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