Tuesday, March 31, 2009


In a comment-slew on Dovbear's blog, Conservative Apikoress (CA) asks:
"Is it an inyan to eat Chinese food and go to a movie on December 25?"

[Dovbear's blog: http://dovbear.blogspot.com/ ]

The posting, in case you couldn't guess, is about inyonim. You may peruse it here:

The Bray of Fundie hastened to reassure CA, writing:
"No Moabite. But it is an inyan to eschew the Bais Midrash and play chess on the evening of December 24th."

Question: This inyan is well-established, especially among Jews of Gallitzianer oder Russishe ursprung. Ober vorem?

Answer: Because the Cossacks who live next door borrowed your station wagon (without even asking, gevalt!) for a crazy vodka-fueled midnight ride to Bayonne. Chess soothes the mind, and that, in its turn, contributes to the total calmness of the universe - which will also have an influence on those shikkere mechutzefim who stole your car, and thus lead to its and their safe return. To do otherwise is to virtually GUARANTEE that they smash it through the garage wall and into your kitchen. You don't want that to happen, do you? So play chess! Otherwise those drunken Cossacks might do something nasty.

Can't trust those stupid Cossacks. Might be best to move somewhere where there aren't any.


It's also, apparently, an inyan to eat egg salad with onions on shabbes. Gehakte eier mit tzibbeles! Echt un ba emmes!
Which does not square with associating with other people on that day - this inyan would make one poresh min ha tzibbur. And if you have no consideration for your neighbor, at least show some for your eishes chayil.


Sometimes Savage Kitten sends me e-mail messages while I am at work. It's a version of love-talk, or sweet-nothings whispered into the ear. Charming little notes to let me know she's thinking of me.

To illustrate, here is an example:

From: 'Savage Kitten'
Sent: Tuesday, March 31, 2009 12:05 PM
To: 'Mr. Toad'
Subject: The blonde gor-vestite in the cube next to me!!

Oh, the horror. The Horror!

I'm at the library, taking advantage of free internet.
Next to me, clopping back and forth, is this platinum blonde with a suspiciously husky voice, who is too high maintenance for words.

If ya wanna use a 30 minute computer at most branch libraries, all ya gotta do is:
1) type in your card number (some of us have it memorized)
2) your pin number (ditto)
No psychological testing necessary. Or a breathalyzer.

This woman has stomped back and forth to the librarians at least four times, demanding help. She doesn't have her card. She can't remember her pin number. Okay, the computer still isn't doing what she needs. Apparently, she can't type either, because she's entered in the wrong thing.

After she's gotten another librarian to come over and actually get her logged on, she's explaining that she's in a hurry, has to be at the airport by a certain time.

When she's FINALLY logged on, she still won't hush. "Fu*&" and enough sighs to inflate a dirigible come out every other second as she's pounding away. From the sounds of the keystrokes, it's like she's hitting each key with a splayed fingertip, like she doesn't want her nails to get boo-bood.

Oh, life is soooooooooooooooooo hard for her.

I think this woman has to be some demented idiot's "trophy" because I can't see her holding down any job.

She eventually leaves. Clomping. I'm internally laughing my bitchy head off.

("Gor-vestite" is my spur of the moment portmanteau phrase for a combination creature who acts like a gorilla and a transvestite. Between the frenzied mashing of the keyboard and the baritone cursing, this person qualifies.)


See? Wasn't that sweet?
I don't know about you, but it brightened my day.
I'm beaming right now.

FINAL NOTE: the bar for 'gorvestitism' in Savage Kitten's world is probably very low, especially for platinum blondes, because she herself is a relatively petite Cantonese American. And many platinum blondes here in SF know that this is their world, the rest of us just live in it.
I associate blondes with Dutch people, she associates them with an arrogant inability to do math or play well with anybody. That's just the way it is.

Monday, March 30, 2009


In the past I have accused the Dutch of becoming more xenophobic and racist than ever before. So today, when I clicked on the site for the Algemeen Dagblad, I was not surprised to find the following:

Article about soccer: 4 comments
Airplane poo: 1 comment
More layoffs necessary: no comments
Traffic issues: 13 comments
Pillow fight with a hot babe: 3 comments
Deaths in Abidjan: no comments

Ten months for beating a bus driver:



The article is in Dutch, so it might not be immediately apparent why it merited fifty comments.
But the very first sentence is instructive: "De rechtbank in Utrecht heeft maandag de 19-jarige Abdelmallak B. uit Soest veroordeeld tot tien maanden gevangenisstraf..." ('the court in Utrecht on Monday sentenced nineteen year old Abdelmallak B. from Soest to ten months jail time.....').

Mere mention of the name of the perpetrator was enough to generate interest.
A name like Abdelmallak tells the average Jan or Kees that the criminal probably has an immigrant background, is almost certainly a Moroccan, definitely a Muslim.
And despite the vast majority of Moroccans in the Netherlands being quite as law-abiding as the 'natives', the 'natives' tend to overlook their own flaws and obsess over those of resident Arabs and Muslims.


I am certainly not a fan of Arabs or Muslims, as must have been evident from some of my previous posts. But Arabs or Muslims are NOT treated fairly by the 'native' members of Dutch society. Everyone is indeed equal before the law (well, in theory they are), but assuredly not in the eyes of the average Dutchman. Whose bile-spew is more bitter for those he chooses to despise - like immigrants, foreigners, and the faithful of religions other than his own.


Lest you consider this accusation far-fetched, I should also mention that there were twenty four comments underneath an article about a shooting at a nursing home in North Carolina.

Most of the comments were venomously anti-American, and a few were even sneeringly negative over Obama. You see, Americans are resentfully despised by many Dutch, who find themselves both fascinated and repulsed by our antics. We are the quintessence of 'foreign'.

For comparison, there were only two comments underneath an article about a terrorist attack in Pakistan that took twenty lives, nine underneath an abortion demonstration in Madrid, and thirteen comments about international spying by hackers in China.


On the other hand, there were SEVENTY FIVE comments underneath an article about a youth orchestra from Jenin that was disbanded by the Palestinian authorities because of a concert for holocaust survivors in Israel.

That last is easily explained, of course. Many if not most Dutch hate Jews with a passion, though others love them, albeit with considerably less passion. And ALL of the Dutch obsess over them. After all, like the Moroccans, Jews are immigrants, foreign, and of another religion.

Jews are a trifecta of everything that makes the Dutch queasy.

Friday, March 27, 2009


Savage Kitten, despite her many admirable qualities, does NOT grasp bathrooms. Every morning I give her fair warning that I will need to "wash" soon, so that she can go and do whatever it is that women do in there (dance widdershins around a tampon or commune with the spirits of their ancestors - I do not wish to know) before I need to use it. Once I'm in the bathroom, I will be occupying it for forty minutes.
A gentleman always gives a lady a last chance to pee - it is the gallant thing to do.
But once I'm in, I'm in.

She does not understand why it takes me forty minutes.
Well, shaving takes time. Bathing takes time. Nose and ear hair, ingrown hairs.......
Plus other things. Such as reading - I always take books in there with me. And cigars. And a hot cup of coffee.
She speculates that once I'm ensconced, I fade into a sweet sweet dream-state, and compose giddy little verses about the throne while moaning ecstatically. Or do a little happy dance in the nude.
To her the bathroom is a mere blip on the way to being ready for the world in the morning, and my dawdling baffles her. I know she is envious.

It's private time. Quality time. Smoke time. Reading time.


Often, while I'm "smoking", she will come outside the door to tell me something important, or talk about whatever just entered her mind. I'm a little deaf (and she is very soft-spoken), and I've got the bathroom heater going because I do not like to freeze my butt. Plus the door muffles sound too.
So the conversation, as I perceive it, goes something like this:
Savage Kitten: "Mumble mumble mumble MONKEY mumble mumble urrk."
Me: '...Uh huh.'
Savage Kitten: "Mumble mumble burble SHE SAID mumble mumble mumble HAMSTERS."
Me: '...Mmmmmm.'
Savage Kitten: "Grunt whisper burble hiccough DINNER squeak AIRTIGHT whistle snort?"
Me: '...Sounds nice.'

Fortunately she is convinced that I have pre-mature senility, so she will call me during the day to remind me that while I was in the loo I agreed to go to a seafood restaurant at exactly seven-thirty after meeting her in front of the North Beach Library while holding a trout.


I have learned a lot while in the bathroom.

To whit:
1. I can shave with either hand.
2. Cigars float.
3. Turning on the heater keeps the mirror from fogging up.
4. Ripping out ingrown hairs scars the legs.
5. Wear your reading glasses, or you will hit yourself in the face with the coffee cup and the hot coffee will spill into your lap.
6. Hot coffee is always too hot. Even when it's cold.

This morning I learned something new. Something I really wished I had understood before. It's a revelation! Useful and profound.
Azoy: If you're going to spray the black grot between the tiles with clorox cleaning solution, wait until you are finished with everything else - don't just reach down, grab the bottle, and spray away. While seated.
I also learned that I can shave while weeping, and shower with my eyes closed.

Two hours after I got to the office, I still smelled bleach.

The bathroom is a wonderful place. Some people just do not understand that.

Thursday, March 26, 2009


This morning, while with bleary eyes I struggled to wake up, Savage Kitten came bouncing into the room, saying "you've got a psychological problem!". She cheerily clarified it by saying "you're nuts - it's a recognized symptom". She then disappeared into the kitchen to fix herself a big plate of treyf and waffles for breakfast.

As I normally have to fight against the arms of Morpheus for several more minutes, I gave her startling message little thought. Nearly an hour later she brought the subject up again. Turns out she had read an article in one of the local free papers about people who hoard, to such an extent that it impacts on their lives, their neighbors, and their health. Loners who live surrounded by stacks of newspapers, second-hand tyres, empty cans neatly rinsed (or not), and accumulated detritus that they do not wish to throw away ever. Broken refrigerators filled with screws, nails, and coils of wire. Boxes of colour-coded belly-button lint. Scrappaper of enchanting hue that means things to them alone.
It's a real illness, recognized by mental-health professionals, and a widespread problem in San Francisco.
Savage Kitten had helpfully brought the article home for me to read and recognize myself.

I honestly have no clue what she is thinking.
Just because I have enough pipe-tobacco stashed away to last for over two decades (more like 26 years and counting) does NOT mean I'm hoarding.
Many more books than necessary shelf-space? That is perfectly normal.
A wall of cheap paperbacks precariously balanced in the middle of the room? I'm still reading those, that's why they're there.
Stacks of paper everywhere? Yeah, yeah, I'm probably not going to read those articles again, just let me sort through it all and you can throw them away dear.

I think I know why she's got this bug up her bonnet - she's a neat-freak. It's a rejection of certain elements in her past. Elements she associates with eccentric elderly Toishanese in Chinatown. Such as her parents. And their friends.

It's a Chinese thing.

In Chinese dwellings all over San Francisco you will find the following: Thousands of newspapers neatly stacked. Clear plastic covers for everything that isn't going to be moved around. A collection of Danish butter-cookie tins, emptied and cleaned (so useful!). Half-finished sewing or repair projects from two decades ago, that will be finished just as soon as Ah-Bong or Ah-Sook finds the time! Underwear still in its sealed plastic package bought from Sears on Geary street during the Reagan era. Never opened tubes of Darky Brand toothpaste - hasn't been made in nearly twenty five years, the contents have probably gelled into cement by now, the image on the box has faded to fuzzy illegibility. Packaged food with expiration dates in the Kennedy years. Condiments that no-one in the household even likes, but because it was never opened it may NOT be thrown away. Unopened bottles with colourful labels, and giftwrapped crisposnack, tins of generic insta-bev, and informational brochures for companies that no longer exist. Because, of course, these are all useful.

Well, that just ain't me.

There are no newspapers, no Danish butter cookie tins (though I do have half-a-dozen empty eggroll cookie tins - they're cheery red and stackably square, you see).
If I don't finish a project, I throw it out before you notice. I wear my underwear, I do not save it up for a rainy day. If the food didn't get eaten, I throw it out; though there are quite a number of things in the kitchen that she brought into the house, which have been there for YEARS, which I would happily toss, but she insists on keeping, don't ask me why, it's a Chinese thing..........

I do not resemble that at all. Not in the slightest.

What really started her on this suspicion was when I was still running a hot-sauce factory in the kitchen. Raw inventory was a bit of a problem - I kept excellent track of whatever could go bad, but simply overstocked on the stuff that could keep. Such as vinegar, salt, sugar.
You should also know that the kitchen is very small and cramped. There were trays of drying chili peppers, large bags of spices, plus olive oil, limes, vinegars, salt, and sugar, in several different places. For quite a while I kept a vat of Habanero vinegar under my chair in the teevee room, along with several large jars of fermenting peppers. Eventually, everything was used up, I gave up on trying to find a stable source of Rocoto chilies, and the factory wound down (meaning that I lost interest).

The venture was profitable and fun while it lasted - you would be surprised how much flaming hotsauce software geeks go through - but with all the condimental competition out there, it never would've paid the rent.

Several weeks after I stopped manufacturing hotsauce, she discovered four bags of sugar in the teevee room. A month later, she found another five pound bag under the bed. Shortly after that, two more in a bookshelf.

All in all, over the next two years, she found an average of one five pound bag of sugar every five or six weeks.
It made one hell of an impression on her.
That was over ten years ago.
I'm still hearing about it.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009


Back in the nineties I worked at an Indian Restaurant. I had gotten the job when I interrupted a conversation between three plastered individuals in a dive on Broadway. Two of them were subcontinental, the third was a Sicilian petty criminal who worked in restaurants when not in jail - a very nice man, by the way, and a regular in that establishment. He drank there most nights, and often played poker with the lads at the back table.
Not that I would know anything about that.

It turned out the Sicilian gentleman did not know where Sri Lanka was, or what several of the spices were that the more English-able of the two gentlemen was trying to explain to him. So I jumped right on in.

After all, I know everything.

Two days later I was hired, after a fifteen minute interview with the boss of the restaurant. Bookkeeper, cashier. And also sane individual who could calmly observe, answer questions, interpret, represent, make sober decisions. We call it a khazanchee, that being the man that guards the iron cash box.
In the mountains of the North West Frontier Province, I would've been equiped with a Lee-Enfield rifle. Here in San Francisco, a severely Dutch attitude was considered sufficient.

As general factotum and supercargo, I was the one who went to tables to explain to customers that the service charge had been added for THEIR! OWN!! GOOD!!!
It had actually been added because the waiters had recognized the customers as being cheapskate Europeans, English, or Indians, and rightly feared being stiffed on the tip - "snnnff, we're French, and we do not tip in France, snnfff!" - and the waiters also knew that I was quite capable of brazenly overruling any objections that there might be.

Customer: "The chicken, it was not as good as it is in Hyderabad..."
Me: "But you ate absolutely ALL of it!"
Customer: "The achar, we usually expect that to be provided free..."
Me: "The menu says that it costs three dollars, and I know you saw the menu!"
Customer: "The chapatti was not so hot..."
Me: "Which one? You had over two dozen of them!"
Customer: "The owner usually gives a discount..."
Me: "The owner isn't here, but I am!"

As for English people, and the information that Indian food in England is infinitely better in London than in San Francisco, I am so very sorry, but this isn't London, it is San Francisco - are there any questions?

What many Europeans, English, and Indians, fail to understand is that tips are not optional - the staff NEED that money to pay their rent, and they really aren't living high off the hog. Five gentlemen working full time and living in a studio apartment is not the lap of luxury by any standard. A family of four in a Tenderloin one-bedroom? That really does not qualify as excessive comfort.
This is San Francisco. We are one of the most expensive cities in the world. And you are paying far less for your dinner than if the place was run by white people with snooty French accents. So stop being such a miser.


I also answered the phone. One of the most memorable conversations went like this:
Indian caller: "(Sigh)... I am keenly wishing to speak to mister Singh"
Me: "Which one?"
IC: "(Sigh)... It would then be mister J. Singh."
Me: "Which one?"
IC: "(Sigh)... Jack Singh."
Me: "Are you desiring to converse with Jagdeesh Singh, Jagtar Singh, Jagmohan Singh, Jagjeet Singh, Jagvinder Singh, Jangjit Singh Aluwalia, Jangjit Singh Bangi, Jagroop Singh, or Joginder Singh?"
IC: "Oh for Ram's sake, just let me speak to mister Patel!
Me: "Do you mean Ashwin Patel, Mantoo Patel, Harirambhai Patel, Parteeb Patel, Anirud Patel .....?"

Once down at one of the city offices, at very nearly five o'clock, I tried to ask the counter-clerk (an Indian, coincidentally) a question. Before I could even finish my sentence, he slammed the window down, snapping: "what everrr you are wantinggggg, we are NOT havinggg!"

I often felt like I was channeling for that fine gentleman while working at the restaurant.


Many of the people who called did not wish to speak to an Anglo. An Anglo just would not be able to answer their questions, nor understand what they were calling about. They insisted on speaking to the manager.

We did not have a manager. We had a headwaiter - who did not want to talk to them. We had a chief clerk down in the basement - who did not want to talk to them. We had a head chef - who would not want to talk to them at all.
And there was myself. I had answered the phone because it was right next to the cash box. But they did not wish to talk to me.

Very well then. I shall go get the "manager".
Put phone down, take a breath, pinch throat, and stare up at ceiling while picking the phone back up.

"Hallooo, this is Venky (Venkataraman) Injinir, I can be helping you pleez? You are vanting, yes?!?"

Almost always this led to a phone conversation that was satisfactory all around. Their questions got answered (did I already mention that I know everything?), reservations for small family parties of fifteen hundred people were made, dietary preferences and food-taboos were noted, and whatever they were wanting, was truly and indeed very much being had.

The only time it didn't work was when the owner's wife called.

The first time Venky (Venkataraman) Injinir answered, no problem. She never even wondered why some outrageously-accented South-Indian was working among all the North Indians.
She asked to speak to her son, I passed the phone, and thought no more about it.

Second time, she and Venky (Venkataraman) Injinir had a delightful but brief conversation about how there is no apam or murungai at all to be had alas in San Francisco, but aam ka achaar almost as proper as in Chettinad, heavens to betsy! Then her son came on the line, and I hung up.
Her son later informed me that I was a very exceptional sort of Tamil, obviously of good family. His mom was exceedingly pleased that they had managed to find such an exemplary Madrassi.

The third time, I had a cold. After a few minutes she exclaimed "Atboth, is that you!?!?!"
Without another word I handed the phone to her son and went into the kitchen to have a fit of the vapours.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.


When I went to the office kitchen to throw my lunch container away a few moments ago, there were bagels and cream cheese on the counter.

I tossed them out.

No, I did NOT sadistically sabotage someone else's lunch! The bagels and cream cheese had been there since yesterday morning.
Of the many super-intelligent people in this office, I may be the only one who grasps that thirty hour old cream cheese is no longer at optimum edibility.

Same with the three-day-old roast beef sandwiches.
Those had been ordered on Friday for a meeting, and had later been left on the kitchen counter for whoever needed a snack.
They were still there Monday afternoon.

Last week's bagels and cream cheese had sat on the counter from Tuesday to Friday.

I blame the environmentalists.

You see, the office has gone green, and we are supposed to be conscientious about our waste. Instead of the comforting regular trash can underneath each desk and the big black bucket in the kitchen, which happily welcomed all disposables and smelled a bit, we now all have clean blue containers for what is called "white office paper" in our cubicles. And only 'white office paper' can be put in them - we will be spoken to severely if we are discovered to be putting anything else in there!

[Every evening Igor wheels his bin around for the trash, but usually there is nothing in most of the blue containers. Nothing. He's wasting time. And it seems to depress him. He probably feels useless.]

Whatever is not 'white office paper' now has to be separated into "recyclable cans and bottles", "cardboard", "miscellaneous plastic", "compost", and "other".
Yellow sticky notes, scratch paper, lunch bags, teabags - all are 'other'.

There are three colour-coded containers for "other", and an equal number for "recyclable cans and bottles", "cardboard", "miscellaneous plastic", and "compost", scattered around the office.
It has been emphasized that if we don't put things in the correct bin, there will be grievous repercussions! Al Gore will weep Tofu tears, and the Dalai Lama will come and get you!

[There are now also TWO bins in each bathroom - one for paper towels, one for 'other'. 'Other' in this context probably means bio-hazard.]

Two or three of my coworkers do indeed worshipfully take apart their pizza boxes for 'compost' (the bottom part, which has tomato sauce and grease stains) and 'cardboard' (the top, but only if it is clean), tear the plastic out of window-envelopes for 'miscellaneous plastic' (the rest to be deposited into white office paper), and empty their used teabags into 'compost', the bag itself, with string and staple going into 'other'.
The rest of us simply trot over to the big bin in the kitchen with handfulls of our collected clutter every two or three days, or save it all in an environmentally unfriendly plastic bag, to be dumped into the overflowing public trash bin on the way to the bus.

It is all a big pain in the sphincter.

Last week's bagels were delivered Tuesday morning (Tuesday is bagel day).
Someone wrote "happy bagel Tuesday!" on the whiteboard in the kitchen.

Yay, bagels!

Not all of the bagels were consumed.

In the following days, the sign was repeatedly modified.
"Happy Chew-toy Wednesday!"
"Happy Jawbreaker Thursday!"
"Happy Garlic Ranch Pringle Friday!"
"Happy Acid Reflux Saturday!"
"Happy Comatose Sunday!"

Yet nobody threw the damned things out.

My guess is that even though everybody saw them sitting there, they didn't want to have to choose: are these cardboard, compost, or other? A rather severe sermon could result from a wrong decision! And who really wants to tell the nice sincere treehugging individuals delivering such lectures that they are chock-full of compost?

Tuesday, March 24, 2009


It struck me that some people might be more interested in the pro-Israel street-theatre of this blogger and his friends than in my usual mixture of odd subjects and caffeine-fueled blathering.
[Obviously, not all my posts are to your liking. Heck, sometimes I wonder what I am going on about too. And most of this stuff bores my significant other, who does not drink, smoke, or threaten helpless little Palestinian rabbits in the streets. Which are all things which I enjoy. So I can understand your apathy, though not appreciate it.]


So, for the benefit of stalkers and the merely curious, here are four new labels, clicking on which will pull up all posts about pro-Israel actions in the past four years.
Or, as we like to call them, love-ins (some of us remember the sixties).

Street Zionism 2009

Street Zionism 2008

Street Zionism 2007

Street Zionism 2006

You will notice other labels underneath several of the posts. Consider it a voyage of discovery and click away, dear reader.
If you are a stalker from the dark side, good luck.



Anonymous wrote: "These links are broken...they lead right back to the original post."

My dear Anonymous, the links weren't broken - those labels appeared underneath this post also, hence this one would be the first in each series pulled up by clicking on them.
But because I can see where that could cause confusion, I have removed all labels from this post.

Now, if you click on the any of the labels above, this post will not be the first one to pop up.

Monday, March 23, 2009


Peace rally in San Francisco's civic center turns into angry confrontation. Activists scream hatred at Jews. Angry Lakota Sioux radical spouts racist rant, finishes by bad drumming and unintelligible chanting. Dick Becker has a fit. Speaker at microphone calls the police mothe***88ers and accuses them of wanting to kill people. Arab bites cop. Palestinians attack Jews in metro.
Saturday March 21st, one PM to about three PM.


There had been nearly two thousand people at Justin Herman Plaza earlier, but by the time the marchers reached Civic Center there were only seven hundred of them left - over half of them angry Arab teenagers, anxious to prove to their kinfolk overseas that they had NOT gone native in the US, but in fact despised the country where they lived, and were against everything American. Especially the despicable liberties that allowed other people to express opposing points of view.
Such as the seventy of us who had gathered on Polk Street in front of SF City Hall to counterdemonstrate the anti-Israel message of International ANSWER and their co-conspirators.


As soon as the crowd reached Civic Center, about two hundred Keffiyeh-wearing young persons headed towards us intent on mayhem, but the presence of the police forced them instead to scream insults and threats, at one point starting a lively chant of "ba ruh, ba dam, nafdeek ya Filistin" ('with our soul, with our blood, we will redeem you oh Palestine'), which follows the traditional formula for swearing a bloody cleansing in service of some Islamic cause or other. And as usual, their non-Arab sympathisers stood there smiling their approval.
Having learned that hate-slogans in Arabic are bad public relations, the organizers of the event stilled the chant, and got them instead to scream something more acceptable, which was the promise to ethnically cleanse the area between the Jordan river and the Mediterranean sea.
The police eventually gently persuaded all of them to return to the proper side of the street for uttering death threats, that being the area designated by the permit for the peace rally.

As only one of them had a megaphone, this tempered the noise considerably. Shaking fists and giving the one-fingered salute is, on the whole, a rather impotent display.


Not that one should consider the San Francisco Palestinian youth impotent. In fact, that might very well be the problem - there is probably massive sexual frustration in their ranks. It really is hard to get laid when you despise people outside your own community, violently disapprove of relations before marriage, and treat the weaker sex like dirt.
Despite the dimwitted blondes who are attracted by Arab machismo, and the revolutionaries who are willing to do anything, anything! to prove their devotion to the cause, well, when you don't have a place of your own AND all of your praeconceptions are going full-tilt, humping just isn't a solution.

Of course, if you are female, the likely prospect of sexual brutalization by a cousin isn't very appealing either.


True to cultural trope, at least one of the Palestinian-Americans wished to throw rocks. Unfortunately he did so at the SFPD, who were not amused by this charming display of traditional self-expression and wished to arrest him. The crowd then waxed belligerent at the SFPD's insensitivity, chanting and screaming at the police - several of them needed to be restrained.
I believe the police eventually decided not to arrest the twelve-year old, who was blubbering like an infant by then. Instead they chose some of the more violently inclined older individuals who attacked them.

One of whom, we now know, has teeth.

Attacking the police is not a wise thing to do - neither is calling them motherf****s, as one of the ANSWER speakers on the podium did - his words were clear, distinct, and amplified. He was urging people to stay away from 'tha po-lees, do not provoke tha po-lees, don't get tha po-lees angry, man, you can't win against tha po-lees, they be jest wanting to put you six feet under, man, tha po-lees'.

The twelve year old who was nearly arrested is the son of a Palestinian-American family that runs a liquor store. I shall not say anything negative about them, as Palestinian store owners are hardworking people making an honest living in some interesting parts of town. Once you get to know them, you discover that they are very genuine people, with big hearts, who care about the community in which they live.

Some of their children, on the other hand.... Well, many of the kids are typical urban American teenagers. Meaning that they have horrible taste in music, chips on their shoulders, attitude problems, and are desperate for someone to hate.
Oh, and frustrated. Very, very frustrated. That doesn't help.


That was the strident message of one of International Answer's speakers. While the pro-Palestinians were screaming insults at the police on the southwest corner of the plaza, this speaker was demanding loudly into the microphone that the police leave civic center, insisting that their being there was enough to cause trouble, the mere presence of police was a disruptive influence on the peaceful natures of the peace demonstrators, who had no choice but to bay for the blood of the officers.

Actually, the seventy of us who were there standing for Israel's right to exist were the disruptive influence - if the police were not there, they would've bayed for our blood. As they had repeatedly clarified.
And most of the time, they did in fact bay for our blood.

It was rather dreary, and very unimaginative. Though very much appreciated by the union members and older radicals from Berkeley who attended (heck, those delicious youth could've danced the rumba and the Berkeleyites would've been appreciative).


Some of the Palestinian youth were so frustrated by the police maintaining order that they gave vent to their fury in the Civic Center Bart Station. From all accounts, they ganged up on a group of four people who had left the protest in disgust. What might have turned into bloodshed was prevented by the judicious application of pepper spray and the arrival of the police, who arrested the most criminally inclined of the mob.
Quick action by the SFPD prevented assault and battery from becoming a visit to the emergency room.


Altogether, about a dozen violent peace activists ended the day in handcuffs. The police acted with remarkable restraint, and succeeded in maintaining order despite the provocative behaviour displayed by a violence-prone mob.

This did not please the organizers of the peace protest. Several of their speakers foamed incomprehensibly into the microphone, upset at this peaceful turn of events.
I'm still not sure what the Lakota drumming and chanting was for (that speaker had called the Arabs, Chicanos, and Philippinos his bruthas, and angrily damned all white people without reservation), and the hysterical Arab hatemongstress had bored even her own side, who preferred to stand facing the Israel supporters, screaming about Jew-Nazi-Kikes and promising to kill our families.

Standing proudly alongside the Israel-haters were the American Postal Workers Union, the Communications Workers of America, Code Pink, Black Block and other anarchists, various individual members of Bay Area Women in Black, Students for Justice in Palestine, JVP, and several other groups who do not object to anti-Semitic rhetoric for peace, as well as numerous adherents of conspiracy theories about nine-eleven. Conspiracy theories, by the way, proved incredibly popular - second only to the cheerleading for Jew-death at the front of the crowd.


It must have been immensely frustrating for Dick Becker of International ANSWER that only several hundred people stayed with the rally all the way to Civic Center. His speech to the crowd (completely ignored by the Arab Jugend trying to provoke the police) asserted that San Francisco Voice for Israel was a racist group that existed only to harass him.

Sorry, Richard, that just isn't so. You are actually irrelevant. We know that you do not wish the annihilation of Israel, and the Arab youth also know that. It wouldn't make you happy at all.
You probably prefer that anti-Semitism survive at the present near-boil, so that you may surround yourself with all those delicious young Levantines, eh?
Mmmm, zesty!

Richard, are you upset at the low turn-out? Was it disappointing? Do you feel, somehow, inadequate? You should, you really should!
It really is you - you're too old, Richard.
Karmicly you are losing hair, and your aura is nearly invisible.
Again, for us in SF Voice for Israel, it ain't about you. Don't flatter yourself.
You're an egomaniac, but most people will never even know who the heck you are. You are totally unimportant.

Several of the other elderly white people from Berkeley who were at the rally were also there for the frisson provided by angry radical teenagers. But unlike the teenagers and mister Becker, they probably weren't nearly so frustrated, having developed coping mechanisms for their various urges long ago.
Still, angry young people can be so exciting!


Sometime after three o'clock the peace demonstration petered out, the crowd's enthusiasm for bloodshed having waned. The weather and the calm behaviour by the police had made clear to even the most delusional people that no Jews were going to die that day, though as the events at the BART Station subsequently proved, several stupid teenagers would end up in jail because of their violent tendencies.

This was the smallest International ANSWER peace demonstration in years. It is unlikely that Richard Becker will be able to pull together another event in March of next year. I just hope he manages to keep some of his young acolytes......
It is so sad when a manly man's vigour fades.

Friday, March 20, 2009


Something described as infandous is "too odious to be expressed or mentioned." The word was recently used by mr. Alykhan Velshi to describe British Member of Parliament George Galloway.

The Canadian immigration office has confirmed that Galloway's entry was deemed inadmissible on national security grounds and he would not be allowed into the country.

Alykhan Velshi, spokesman for the immigration minister, described the MP for Bethnal Green and Bow as an "infandous street-corner Cromwell".

He later told Channel 4 News that the MP for Bethnal Green and Bow "is on the record bragging about providing financial support to Hamas, an organisation which is a banned terrorist organisation in Canada."

"He has expressed sympathy for the Taliban murderers who are trying to kill Canadian and British soldiers in Afghanistan."

"This is not someone who we believe we should be giving special treatment in terms of allowing them access to our country. Mr Galloway has said he wants to come to Canada to raise money for these groups that are out there killing Canadians."

"It is actually quite odious and I think it is entirely appropriate for our security agencies to say that if they have advance notice that Mr Galloway is going to come to Canada to pee on our carpet, that we should deny him entry to the home."


Velshi said the decision was taken in accordance with section 34(1) of the country's immigration act.

The act states: "A permanent resident or a foreign national is inadmissible on security grounds for:
(a) engaging in an act of espionage or an act of subversion against a democratic government, institution or process as they are understood in Canada;
(b) engaging in or instigating the subversion by force of any government;
(c) engaging in terrorism;
(d) being a danger to the security of Canada;
(e) engaging in acts of violence that would or might endanger the lives or safety of persons in Canada; or
(f) being a member of an organisation that there are reasonable grounds to believe engages, has engaged or will engage in acts referred to in paragraph (a), (b) or (c)."


Much as I am filled with glee over this utterly delightful turn of events, and even though George Galloway is such an odious piece of pustulant subhuman garbage that his name may induce fits of vomitting by people of delicate sensibilities, I do not support banning his entry.


Let the man speak. Let his repulsive thoughts be vented. Above all, counter-argue him and his brain-rotted fanclub. Prove him wrong, and prove his ideology depraved.

Then arrest him and his fiendish supporters for engaging in an act of espionage or an act of subversion against a democratic government, institution or process as they are understood in Canada; engaging in or instigating the subversion by force of any government; engaging in terrorism; being a danger to the security of Canada; engaging in acts of violence that would or might endanger the lives or safety of persons in Canada; and being a member of an organisation that there are reasonable grounds to believe engages, has engaged or will engage in acts referred to in paragraph a, b or c.

And if he does pee on the carpet, fine him for vandalism and displaying his wangle in public.
It won't be the first time.

Thursday, March 19, 2009


A postmaster in Nottingham, England, will refuse to serve people if they cannot speak English.

Deva Kumarasiri, who moved to England from Sri Lanka 18 years ago, runs the Sneinton Boulevard Post Office.

Mr Kumarasiri said he could not serve people if he did not understand what they were asking for.


"I am part of a service but how can I serve them if I don't understand what they are asking for?"

The 40-year-old felt he was only asking people to make the same efforts he had done himself.

"I was born and raised in a different country, my language was different, my religion was different. But when I came to England I obeyed the British way of life, I got into the British way of life. That is what I ask everyone else to do - respect the country where you are working and living."

Ina Norgate, 49, from Sneinton, said: "I agree with him. It's a bit ignorant to come here and not speak the language. If you went to France you would have to learn French."

But Mohammed Ahmed, 22, also from the area, disagreed. "This is a multicultural society and this is not right really," he said. "If they come here to work, it's their right to stay here even if they speak their own language. Some people can't speak English but they can learn the language once they come here."

Afzal Sadif from the Nottingham Racial Equality Council said Mr Kumarasiri's stance was "unacceptable".
"This is a public service, the Post Office is there for everybody and we seriously have to look at the stereotypical view he's coming across with. In the long run, I believe, if we're living in Britain, over the course of the years, you have to speak English to get by but you can't force it upon people."


I am of two minds about this. On the one hand, I can understand that multilingualism is neither necessary for daily life nor something that can be enforced. On the other hand, learning another language is not as easy as the monolingualists fondly make it out to be.
[Oops, wait - that's really the same hand! Oh well.]

English, as you may have heard, is not the easiest language in the world (even though a derivative of English, known as Tokpisin, arguably is). We need not even mention the insane spelling of this language (strictly for the birds).
And there are some parts of the world where English has pronunciations and usages which deviate ENORMOUSLY from standard speech - among others: Karachi, Mumbai, and Yorkshire. This adds a dimension of dificulty.

Nevertheless, how hard is it to communicate with someone who wishes to give you money? It isn't as if the two of you will be discussing deep philosphical concepts, analyses of theology, or a recent Swedish movie filled with angst and weltschmertz.

"Goot efternun! Ee vish to be aporchessing wan stemp. Hit iz for mey emblop, that iz tu be gowung tu Salamibod in Pekkiston. Vich is laik Hindia, tatahpi reet nixt dawar. Eeh yes? Ewe 'nerstending pliz? Hir er saveril koo-ins, vitch iz tu sey, wan pawand & fir shilleng. Ee think ewe, hazoor."

See? How hard is that? Just take the money.
Weltschmertz absolutely requires fluent English. Commerce, meh, not so much.

Anti-Irish attitudes haven't been acceptable, even in Britain or Massachusetts, in several decades.

Welshmen and Valley Girls are a different matter.


We've all felt this way at some point, and we've all wanted to do this. About doors. And kicking them in, that is. Yes, we have all felt the urge to kick them in. Because they are so pesky.

Doors represent the violence inherent in the system and the capitalist oppression of the working classes.

So I can certainly sympathize, utterly and completely, and without reservation, with Imam Sheikh Taj-Din al-Hilali, who acted on that wish, and did kick in a door - thus striking a potent blow for freedom and several noble principles. Bravo!


By Natalie O'Brien, Angus Hohenboken - March 19, 2009 - The Australian

AUSTRALIA'S most controversial sheik, Taj Din al-Hilali, has been caught on videotape kicking in a door at his own mosque before calling police to report an act of vandalism.


The head imam at the Lakemba mosque, who caused outrage in 2006 by comparing scantily clad women to uncovered meat, was shown on a CCTV security tape kicking open the door just minutes before reporting the incident.

The Nine Network's A Current Affair last night broadcast the videotape from March 9, showing the incident, which Sheik Hilali initially denied.
"There is a trick in this camera. There is a trick in this film," he told ACA.


The footage shows four young men locking the door behind them at 10.28pm.
Nine minutes later, Sheik Hilali checks the lock and pushes on the top of the door, bending it on its hinges. After checking the corridor, he disappears from view before rushing towards it and kicking it open at 10.46pm.



It's all about openness and the freedom to be. If nothing else, a mosque door symbolizes suppression of the various liberties of 'uncovered meat', and likewise stands in for the reprehensible racialism and immorality inherent in societies where doors are required.

We take doors for granted. Perhaps we shouldn't. There is a tyranny in doors.

I therefore encourage you to reject the despotism of such devices, and kick in you own mosque door.
Do it for freedom. Do it now.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009


If ever you needed evidence that the peace movement has been taken over by Jew-haters, and that Democrats, even in San Francisco, are America's best hope, look no further than the material below.
Note particularly the stated reasons for the alleged peace march on Saturday March 21, and especially the insane comment about an eventual secular Palestine from the river to the sea - code for ethnically cleansing Israel off the map.



Victims & Witnesses to Police Riot Go to SF Bd of Sups Mtg Today 2pm and show the video
by Do It Today Tuesday Mar 17th, 2009 12:25 PM

You can during public comment use audio visual. Call the clerks office and ask what kind of format or hardware you have to use. Angela Calvillo • Clerk of the Board of Supervisors • (415) 554-5184

When they see that video of the attack; it says all that needs to be said.

Do it today. During public comment you get 2-3 minutes. Not sure. Ask the clerk when public comment starts. Tell the board you want an investigation of the incident.

email and call the board members as well.

§Call/Email all 11 Supervisors: The police are everybody's business by $ Tuesday Mar 17th, 2009 12:56 AM

Call all 11 Supervisors; they all have voice mail so you can leave a message at any time. You can also Email them. The police are everybody's business. The Financial District happens to be District 3, David Chiu's district. 10 of the 11 members of the Board are Democrats, 1 is a Green who was president of his police academy class, Ross Mirkarimi. The entire Democratic Party is pro-Israel which is why we never see Chris Daly at these demonstrations. People who are pro-Israel are by definition reactionary; there is nothing progressive about any of the Democrats. Tell them you want all the charges dropped, you hope the protesters sue the City of San Francisco for millions of dollars, you are outraged that the 10 Democrats are all pro-Israel which is why you never vote for Democrats or Republicans, and that you will be at the peace march on March 21 at 11 a.m. in San Francisco from the Embarcadero to the Civic Center because you support the Palestinian liberation struggle and look forward to a time soon when there will be a secular Palestine, from the Jordan River to the Mediiterranean Sea that never receives any US military money, unlike Israel which receives US tax dollars to the tune of $6 billion a year.

The information on the Board is at
and here:

Eric Mar
District 1
(415) 554-7410 - Voice
(415) 554-7415 - Fax
Eric.L.Mar [at] sfgov.org

Michela Alioto-Pier
District 2
(415) 554-7752 - Voice
(415) 554-7843 - Fax
Michela.Alioto-Pier [at] sfgov.org

David Chiu - Board President
District 3
(415) 554-7450 - Voice
(415) 554-7454 - Fax
David.Chiu [at] sfgov.org

Carmen Chu
District 4
(415) 554-7460 - Voice
(415) 554-7432 - Fax
Carmen.Chu [at] sfgov.org

Ross Mirkarimi
District 5
(415) 554-7630 - Voice
(415) 554-7634 - Fax
Ross.Mirkarimi [at] sfgov.org

Chris Daly
District 6
(415) 554-7970 - Voice
(415) 554-7974 - Fax
Chris.Daly [at] sfgov.org

Sean Elsbernd
District 7
(415) 554-6516 - Voice
(415) 554-6546 - Fax
Sean.Elsbernd [at] sfgov.org

Bevan Dufty
District 8
(415) 554-6968 - Voice
(415) 554-6909 - Fax
Bevan.Dufty [at] sfgov.org

David Campos
District 9
(415) 554-5144 - voice
(415) 554-6255 - fax
David.Campos [at] sfgov.org

Sophie Maxwell
District 10
(415) 554-7670 - Voice
(415) 554-7674 - Fax
Sophie.Maxwell [at] sfgov.org

John Avalos
District 11
(415) 554-6975 - Voice
(415) 554-6979 - Fax
John.Avalos [at] sfgov.org



You will have observed that the tirade above was posted on Indybay. Where you will find any number of hatefilled posts and comments, and almost obsequious praise of foreign dictators and tyrants.

In case you did not know, I should also mention that Indymedia has a very low level of tolerance for freedom of speech. Here in the Bay Area, Indybay is notorious for allowing almost any amount of anti-Jewish and anti-Israel commentary - the two types often run together - but assiduously scrubbing every dissenting voice from underneath the post in question as soon as possible.

There is additionally a well-established pattern of support for violent and criminal behaviour which speaks for itself. Morality, in the final analysis, is NOT a concern of Indybay, and ethics is a concept of which they have no grasp.
One would also be hard put to find any balance whatsoever on their site - "fair" and "objective" are just not part of their policy.
They will not allow impressions which do not accord with their agenda.

Many Indymedia sites have been taken over by extremists. Which is not surprising. Given their demographic.


Stating that one is pro-Israel in the Bay Area is a dangerous thing to do.
In many places here, such an admission elicits threats of violence and assertions that one is deficient, morally crippled, a sexual deviant, and should be brutally violated with a blunt object. Unless the freedom-loving individual who offers these suggestions prefers, instead, to promise this treatment to your loved ones.

Infinite variations on these themes are possible.

So it is remarkable (but not surprising) to find the SF Board of Supervisors, who are on the whole a remarkably level-headed bunch of people, accused of such dissidence as averred above. Given the level of anti-Semitism in the Bay Area, they deserve praise for their patience, and for putting up with the revolutionary rhetoric of hate.

Wearing a kippah on campus at Berkeley or San Francisco State University is an open invitation to insult and abuse, with what seems like the blessing of faculty and administration - because, of course, the person flinging poo is merely exercising free speech rights in defense of the poor helpless third-worlders hurling tiny pebbles at big wasp imperialist tanks.

Likewise, venturing the opinion that Hezbollah, Hamas, and Islamic Jihad are neither collectively nor singly in favour of freedom of religion, freedom of speech, or tolerant of homosexuality, women's rights, or the separation of church and state, will get you immediately identified as a disgusting capitalist and nazi. Possibly even a religious fanatic. Or even a Jew. The horror, the horror.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009


There's an excellent post over at Doc's Talk, which I encourage you to study.

"The Saudis fear both Iran's nuclear program and its expansionist agenda. [cut] The Iranian Revolution of 1979 launched a far-reaching competition between Shiite Iran and Sunni Saudi Arabia for control of Islam and the ummah, the worldwide community of Muslims. Since Mahmoud Ahmadinejad became president, Iran has increased its expenditure of money, energy, and time on proselytizing populations, from Africa to the Gulf.
Saudi Arabia, more than any other Sunni country, feels threatened by this new wave of Shiite proselytizing."


Another quote:
"Iran's expansionist strategy is not limited to religious affairs. Hundreds of Lebanese Shiite Hezbollah fighters who got their military training in Iran have infiltrated the Gulf since last year in order to "militarize" the Shiite communities of Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, and Bahrain. "

Go over here to read all of it.

You will find a lot of other good stuff on Doc's Talk, and it is well worth reading frequently.

[Please note: sometimes his blog (http://docstalk.blogspot.com/) does not show-up, and you will get a dialogue box that informs you that the internet site cannot be opened or the webpage cannot be displayed. It is a problem, yes.]

Sometimes he's far too hardcore for my taste (just like some of my other favourite bloggers), at other times I might wonder whether he's gone all soft - in other words, his is a thoughtful and worthwhile voice.
And he's both intelligent and literate. These are rare qualities.


Anti-Israel demonstration in front of the consulate in San Francisco on Montgomery Street between Sacramento and California, at 4 PM, Monday March 16th.

As usual we were outnumbered. Less than thirty of us on the pro-Israel side, around three hundred on the anti-Israel side.
I may be severely overestimating our numbers and under-counting theirs.
In which case, let me apologize - I do not mean to misrepresent the facts. Sorry.

I also wish to apologize to the gentleman who asserted that he would kill me, f*&cking kill me - yes, mister, you are ugly and stupid, and probably have body-odour issues, but none of that is your fault! I shouldn't have called you a moron. The truth hurts, and sometimes it is best to diplomatically gloss over it.
That you screamed "I will f*&cking kill you" in my face was likely in lieu of more standard small talk, and I shouldn't have reacted as I did.
Your problems are not your responsibility. Maybe nature, maybe nurture, I shan't speculate. Sorry.


But I'm NOT sorry for calling Terry any of those things. He IS a moron, and he does smell a wee bit (well, he does!). He was being his own blisteringly irritating self last night - did you know I'm a Nazi child-killer? Until he pointed it out in several repetitive ways, I had been unaware of it.
He is a bore. Is there any medication for that?


Yesterday evening's anti-Israel gangbang was in honour of Oakland activist Tristan Anderson of the ISM (International Solidarity Movement), who caught a tear-gas canister with his face last Friday while participating in a rock-throwing demonstration in a closed military zone on the Israeli border.

Unlike the SFPD, who are trained to deal with rowdy and unbalanced individuals, the IDF is tasked strictly with security - and the border is, shall we say, under contention, as well as subject to frequent assault.
Showing International Solidarity with angry Arabs by rioting in that area is not entirely safe, nor advisable.

[Quite different than Rotterdam, London, Oslo, Stockholm, or even Berkeley, where showing solidarity with angry Arabs by acts of violence and vandalism is politically sanctioned and socially approved.]

I shall not fault Mr. Anderson for sincerity. He and his girlfriend, like so many Oaklanders and Berkeleyites, may indeed sincerely believe the Jewish State to be the incarnation of all evil as prophesied by the book of revelations (or in Das Kapital), and sincerely wish Jews to be expelled from the Middle-East in a great and glorious uprising of the proletariat, with just oodles of blood and dancing and mass-action - maybe a variation on these themes which is less crimson, or a Peace-Love-Green-Tofu version of it that denies that there are ANY violent tendencies on the side which they support - but their sincerity, despite all that, need not be questioned. They probably thought that they were doing the right thing.

[Like many of the good people of the Bay Area, when they're at home they no doubt spend much of their money on feeding and clothing the homeless, and comforting the poor.]

Tristan (Cricket) Anderson is currently in the intensive care unite of Tel Hashomer Hospital near Tel Aviv. His girl-friend of less than a year, Gabrielle Silverman, is by his side, and his family have flown to Israel to be there for him.

[Gabrielle Silverman is in Israel on a Birthright-Israel trip - not a few activists make happy use of this opportunity.]


Unlike most of the anti-Israel celebrations in the Bay Area, this time there was a more interesting and diverse bunch on the other side. Not just the usual hate-filled psychotics, but a wide spectrum of people, including some sincerely (and, arguably, misinformed, maleducated, misguided) peace-at-all-cost-niks.
A number of members of JVP and BAWIB were also sincerely present, showing solidarity with the Palestinian cause. And as there were no chants of 'death to the Jews', it was entirely within their comfort zone.
Often such people are the passive enablers of the rabid element - and I note that Kate Bender Raphael was on the news last night presuming to speak for all of them.

There were also about fifty anarchists in the crowd. Their fury was not so much against Israel and the Jews, as against all authority figures, building security, police, principals, and truant officers. Once the herd thinned out a bit, they intended to smash some things, and overturn some other things, while yelling juvenile taunts at adults wearing uniforms.

After an hour and a half of sincere rhetoric, the poetry of outrage, and revolutionary rap, the crowd decided to go to Market Street to stop traffic and bang on buckets. So they headed down Montgomery, their motley presenting a colourful and utterly San Francisco spectacle. That's when the gentleman I mentioned previously offered to cause my demise. He interrupted his participation in the 'march' to make sure I got the message.

Thank you. Your sincerity is noted.


I passed a burning trashcan on the way back to the office. An hour later when I headed into Chinatown, there were still many police cars parked near consulate - these were awaiting the fracas that ensued when the other side returned. According to the news there were five arrests, one of which was for assaulting a police officer. At one point, the police needed to act quite forcefully to prevent vandalism and violence.

The other side, of course, is screaming about Police Brutality and the Jack-Booted Gestapo of the Democratic Party Capitalists.
Sometimes their rhetoric gives me an uncontrollable fit of the giggles.

Monday, March 16, 2009


A gentleman from Oakland by the name of Tristan Anderson got hit in the face with a tear-gas canister three days ago. This is not something which can be expected by normal people who mind their own business. One actually has to do several things for it to happen.

What Mr. Anderson (aka 'Cricket') did was join the International Solidarity Movement, travel to Israel, cross over into Palestinian territory, and take part in a rock-throwing protest in a closed military zone.

With all due respect for people of that ilk, there may be something about such behaviour which makes the old tear-gas canister in the face a little more likely. At least the chance is no longer one in a million.
Being on the same side as rock-throwing demonstrators, in a closed military zone, with the IDF on the other side? There are certain risks involved. Even if you do have the protection of an American passport and a liberal education.
[Mr. Tristan (Cricket) Anderson at one point gained fame for squatting in the branches of a tree on the UC Berkeley campus for twenty-one months. He may have gotten college credits for that endeavor.]

Mister Anderson is currently in hospital in Israel, receiving the best medical care possible (as has been communicated by several e-mailers from the anti-Israel side). Part of his brain had to be removed, and doctors have tried to repair some of the damage to his face. He may also lose an eye.

Now, I don't really give a flying you-know-what about his face. People like that almost always have a sneering superior smirk on their face at all times, and are unpleasant to look at. That, and their ideological repulsiveness, make them less than Barbie to begin with.
But I hope he does NOT loose the eye, and I am disturbed by the brain thing. It is always a bad thing when someone's brain gets damaged.
He may be wrong, and he may quite probably be an evil self-righteous sonofabitch for joining that bunch of opportunistic Jew-hating bastards known as the ISM....., AND furthermore serious damage is something I would certainly wish to have happen to Hamas-supporters (such as the members of ISM, International ANSWER, and Bay Area Women in Black) - but, however, still, nevertheless. The brain. And the eye.
I do not feel bad about what happened to him (and have no sympathy whatsoever for his friends, family, and supporters), but it disturbs me.

Lets just say my piles bleed for him and leave it at that.

Friday, March 13, 2009


It turns out that I am a much more patient and tolerant person than Savage Kitten. If you've read this blog for a while, this may surprise you no end. But it is nevertheless the unvarnished truth.

Years ago she borrowed 'The DaVinci Code' from the library to see what all the hoopla was about. I think she got halfway through the first page before deciding that it was a load of bollocks and popular only because people are idiots. On the other hand I got through nearly two pages before deciding de gustibus non disputandem est, the writing in this thing is bad, meh.

We also tried to watch 'Last Year in Marienbad' together. A more pretentious piece of artistic excrescence is hard to imagine. She watched five minutes and concluded that it stank, I saw at least fifteen minutes before regretfully realizing that there was no plot, the characters were flat and unlikable, the dialogue jejeune and pointless, and the cinematography repetitive and derivative.


Last night we sat down to watch 'The Legend of the Black Scorpion', starring Zhang Ziyi and Daniel Wu, directed by Feng Xiaogang. Less than ten minutes into it, she disappeared into the other room, having several times pronounced it a stinker.
Except for a smoke break during which I fixed myself a whiskey and water, I sat through the whole thing.

I think I now understand why Chinese novelists like to feature extended families of several hundred named characters in their works - if, in a fit of pique, they decide to kill off everybody they'll have plenty of scope for creative murder.
The Legend Of The Black Scorpion is a blood-spatter epic. Played for beauty and importance rather than laughs. It is inspired by Hamlet, as interpreted by either Macchiavelli or Ingmar Bergman.
Zhang Ziyi is Hamlet's mom during the period between the T'ang Dynasty and Sung, when the empire was in turmoil and several houses competed for power. Hamlet, in the person of Wu Luan (Daniel Wu), is the crown prince. An artistic sort of chappie, who heads into the distant and semi-barbaric south in a funk once his dad marries Wan'er (Zhang Ziyi), where he stages very meaningful stage pieces in a forest setting for an audience of nil comma nil spectators. Very meaningful! You can tell by the angst that drips off the screen. His dad subsequently gets whacked by his uncle, who then takes Zhang Ziyi as his wife. Several uninteresting plot-twists later, everybody dies of poison or violence.

I thoroughly enjoyed the dramatic deaths of the uncle (poison-suicide) and the empress (surprise sword through the chest). These were very nice. Lots of other people also die in this movie, but in boring ways.
I got the distinct impression that no one was chosen for their acting ability.

However, it is a visually striking movie. Absolutely beautiful. The cinematography deserves kudos. Despite the not-particularly inspired writing, and unsubtle ripp-off of Shakespeare's little Danish adventure, this movie is big, bold, brassy, and epic.
When you watch it, mute the sound and invent your own dialogue.

Thursday, March 12, 2009


One of the things which upsets European visitors to San Francisco is the rather paltry and haphazard prostitution here. Apparently there are so few opportunities for abusing the fairer sex that, somehow, we seem less of a city. Not at all world-class.

I was of course flabbergasted when I first heard this, as I had always assumed that we had a lively grown-up sex trade, and more than adequately catered to the depraved whims of our visitors. But no. Several Germans and Englishmen, as well as two drunken Dutchmen, have complained bitterly about the lack of by-the-hour opportunities.
We are totally inadequate, in their estimation.


In a way this is understandable. Nearly half of all women trafficked worldwide end up in Western Europe, many in establishments in Germany, Holland, and England. Over two hundred thousand Eastern European girls are sold to houses in western Europe every year. Places like Moldova and Macedonia are central to this trade in teenage female flesh, with the smuggling route often going overland through various Slavic and Germanic territories - to the immense profit of officials, it must be added. But Asian and African women are simply flown in on spurious visas, thus enormously benefiting the consular services of the destination countries.

Many Western European young men are accustomed to cap off a night of binge-drinking by brutalizing a third-world woman. Sometimes the entire group happily heads out to the red-light district. It's a bonding experience, much like Berkeley frat-boys heaving up their guts in the Tenderloin.

Anyone wishing to study the world's languages need only spend a few hours in the red light districts of Hamburg, Rotterdam, and London, to get plenty of gritty real-life linguistic exposure. Rotterdam of course dwarfs the other two cities in that regard, and the Dutch are talented linguists in addition to being central to the European sex slave trade. Other important players are the Turks, Yugoslavs, and Italians - but for sheer bold enterprise and chutzpah the Dutch take the cake, having set up brokerages in many third-world countries, even going so far as to recruit Philippinas in the Persian Gulf who wish to escape their brutal Arab employers.
All of this benefits huge numbers of Netherlandish, Belgian, German, and British men, whose tastes and preferences preclude normal relationships.

Random quotes from articles about the European sex slave trade:
" ..... her owner would kill her ... forced to have sex with as many as ... savagely beaten ... she no longer had the will ... breaks them in ... young girls are forced ... obliging border guards ... killed for trying to escape ... trapped in a brothel ... Dutch police officials estimate that as many as 70 percent of the prostitutes in the Netherlands are working illegally, using false documents provided by smugglers to skirt Dutch and European laws ..... "


Visiting San Francisco is a hardship for many young Western European heterosexual males, who completely fail to understand, once here, that our ethnic diversity does NOT represent several layers of sexual underclass. One can only sympathize with their disillusionment.
And hope that they do not stay too long.


When it comes to genocide, Jews just aren't very good at it. That's why there are so many more "Palestinians" than there were sixty or even forty years ago.
Especially inside Israel, and in the territories.

For real expertise on genocide, try the Gentile nations.


The Dutch (wiped out an entire island in the Indies for business purposes, exterminated natives in South Africa, started race wars in the new world), the English (much the same as the Dutch, plus very creative in the use of euphemisms to disguise their attrocities), the French (Indochina, anyone?), the Belgians (Congo - the gold-standard for savage slaughter of uncooperative natives), Russia (multiple examples), Turkey (Arm...., Arme...., Armeni....., best not say it, could get the Turks angry again), China (anyone remember the Dzungarian Tatars? No, how about Tibet?), Indonesia (Aceh and Timor L'Este, Dayak tribes, Moluccans, Papuans, etc.), Thailand (brutal exploitation of hill tribes along with rape and sexual slavery of their women), Burma (like the Thais, only much more so), Spain (all of Latin America - examples too horrifyingly numerous to detail), Portugal (like Spain, in a more diverse spectrum of geographies).

Oh, and Germany, of course. How could I forget?


Naturally, the Lebanese and Jordanian apartheid policies that still limit the freedoms of the descendants of Palestinians qualify as nearly genocidal - anything more calculated to destroy any sense of ethnic pride is hard to imagine, as well as encouraging the alleged Palestinians to go native in short order.
Economic discrimination against a despised caste is, however, extremely useful in depressing their ability to influence any political or social developments in their countries of birth - as India so abundantly still proves with her treatment of tribals, minorities, and untouchables, and Sri Lanka attempted to do with Tamils and others.
Malaysia and Indonesia, having learned from the Indian example, and from their former colonial masters (the English and the Dutch respectively), apply apartheid laws to their Chinese minorities, as well as extorting protection money ("voluntary contributions for good causes").


Should I also mention African genocides? Or is that just too depressing?
How about Egyptian poison gas used against the highlanders in Yemen when Egypt was involved in the North Yemeni Civil War in the nineteen-sixties?

Of course what the Indians and Pakistanis are doing in Kashmir should, properly speaking, also be called genocide - but polite people prefer not to think of it at all.
After all, Kashmir is beautiful, and the issue far too complex. Best simply dream of ancient Mughal gardens and a lake.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009


There's an interesting post on ZioNation to which I would draw your attention.

Freeman versus "hardline Jews"
By Ami Isseroff.
March 11, 2009

"The supporters of Freeman never fought for him on the issues, but rather on the one irrelevant bogey man issue of "Israel Lobby." Whether or not Dennis Blair, Director of National Intelligence, intended it, the struggle over the nomination of Freeman became an outpost in the battle in a war against Israel and supporters of Israel. It was intentionally billed as such by those who oppose Israel under the guise of "tough love." The issue is billed as support for settlements or "hard line" Israeli negotiating positions vis-à-vis the Palestinians, but that facade is transparent to anyone who wants to look. Some of the rhetoric has now degenerated into frank attacks on "Jews." "


"Freeman [cut] is a "realist," which means, in his interpretation, an appeaser of those who are perceived to be powerful and violent at the expense of the dissidents and powerless. His crusade against Israel, supported by all those ambassadors, is based on the common perception in the US diplomatic corps that has never been altered since before the Six Day War that Israel is a "non-viable client state" that exists at the pleasure of the United States and must do its bidding. "

Freeman himself states in his defense:
"There is a special irony in having been accused of improper regard for the opinions of foreign governments and societies by a group so clearly intent on enforcing adherence to the policies of a foreign government."

"I have never sought to be paid or accepted payment from any foreign government, including Saudi Arabia or China, for any service, nor have I ever spoken on behalf of a foreign government, its interests, or its policies. I have never lobbied any branch of our government for any cause, foreign or domestic"

Oh? How very ..... 'interesting'!

Yet he is well-known as a hack for the house of Saud, fulsome in his praise of his masters. And his plaudits of the Chinese Communist crackdown at Tiananmen are unabashedly supportive of the brutality of dictators.

All this would echo the pre-war admirers of Hitler and Mussolini, were it not that the authoritarians he praises are in fact feudalists and communists.

Instead, one must think of the left's love affair with the tyrannies of Stalin, Mao, and Polpot - which carry over today in their flirtation with the most repressive and reprehensible elements among the Muslims. In this they are no blessing to the West, and provide ill-service to rational people in the Muslim world.

I shall let Ami Isseroff have the last word here, as it his piece with which I started.

The battle is not over and it won't be. The anti-Israel lobby have already started their blood libel, (and) are casting Freeman as a latter day Simon of Trent. If you think I am exaggerating, read Robert Dreyfuss's rant in the Nation:

"---Joining in on the trashing of Freeman were the (let's face it) hard-line Jews of the Democratic Congress, including Senator Charles Schumer of New York, Rep. Steve Israel (yes, he is actually named "Israel") of New York, and of course, that former Democrat, Joe Lieberman -- all of whom crowded into the amen corner with AIPAC..."

At last the Jew word is out. "Hardline Jews" no less. And Dreyfuss and the Nation are not above juvenile wordplay with people's names, either. Don't let the "progressive" aura of The Nation or its pretensions to intellectuality fool you. Dreyfuss is a "hardline" right-wing anti-Semite who used to edit Executive Intelligence Review, described by Wikipedia as "the flagship journal of the Lyndon LaRouche movement." The demented jibe at Steve Israel's name speaks for itself. Dreyfuss's article is just one of many that mourn the innocent victim of the "hardline Jews."

Read the entire article here:

Stay up-to-date here:

Now, I shall be the first to admit that Charles Freeman was eminently suited to the position, especially given that the Saudis and their friends in the oil-industry desperately need a powerful friend in Washington since their protégés returned to Texas.

I just do not think that it is acceptable for the heart of our administration to be occupied by elements intent on subverting the normal functions of our government, nor especially by an individual so clearly intent on enforcing adherence to the policies of a foreign state. And for that reason, I welcome the withdrawal of mister Freeman from consideration for this or any other post.
He is by no means an innocent victim, nor are his defenders honest men.



If any reader now wishes to call me a hardline Jew too, please feel free to do so.

In point of fact, I am a liberal Gentile, as a close reading of my blog would tell you, though I do not expect you to believe this if you are a supporter of Charles Freeman or given to the paranoid conspiracy theories popular among the far left (in which, of course, you more than match the far right). And if that is indeed the case, your opinion ist mir really scheiß egal.

I like the term 'Hardline Jew'. It sounds like a badge of pride - what in Dutch we would call a 'Geuzennaam'.


Imagine, if you will, the type of teenage boy that used to be common in Western Europe in the nineteen seventies. Uncouth and opinionated, but having a quirky intelligence, and some surprising interests. And, unfortunately, a penchant for overdoing things - particularly tobacco and alcohol, especially if someone else is paying. Those cheap cheroots aren't cheap, and beer may be liquid bread but it costs as much as cake.

It is the intensity of living among the teenage crowd of that time to which I particularly wish your attention drawn. Fresh air, cold weather, hot hot tea, strong beer, and profoundly stinky smoking products. Couple these with long rainy months and a general funkiness (aromas of vehicle oil, tar, printer's ink, and turpentine, plus severely unwashed sweaters and jeans), and the nose avidly recalls the time while the present mind cringes. But it was strong then, and life sparkled, despite the overwhelming smell of much spilled ale.

The best cure for a hangover is a pot of thick coffee, and lots of tobacco, early in the morning - the closer to dawn the better.
The combined fragrances will waken the others, asleep on the couch or still slumped on the beer crates in the corner. They too will come to cups, and light up. Before you know it the room is blue with haze swirling in the slanted brightness of morning, and everything is good again.

Made in England by Gawith Hoggarth & Co Ltd

[Gawith Hoggarth is located in Kendal, Cumbria. Which is also where Samuel Gawith is established. Both companies are extremely well known for snuffs and fine old-fashioned flake tobaccos.]

Tin blurb: "The finest Virginia tobaccos expertly blended with Latakia to give the smoker a unique taste and aroma."

What the tin blurb does not mention is that the blending is by means of steam and pressure, which melded and unified the flavours. Consequently this product smells heavenly if someone else lights up - assuming that you like sooty Levantines, of course.
Taste-wise, it is a fine product, rich in the Latakia department, with good Virginias to balance it out. It is not at all complex, but it is quite satisfying. And the Latakia reek is guaranteed to offend.

In the mouths of the Kendal tobacconists, Balkan is an imprecise term; there is no sweaty Turk in their version of a Balkan Mixture. Aficionados of Balkan Sobranie and the Dunhill products will probably be disappointed.
But their teenage sons will just love it, and gladly steal the tin from the desk drawer, smoking it all within the week. It is spicy and woodsy enough for their affections, and they will not mind the hinted soapiness of Lakeland funk in the Virginias. The stringy cut makes it pack well, and it burns smoothly.
This is the flirtation with the saucy sister of a friend, a zesty girl with sparkling eyes. You are thrilled by how she has blossomed - vivacious, charming, witty. An innocent but very intense dalliance, followed by a secret and delicious feeling of guilt - despite no breach of etiquette or ungentlemanly behaviour.
But still. Naughty!

Though it is not a Latakia dump, it cannot be called restrained either. This is a tobacco for the vigour of youth, and long glowing evenings of bar-hopping cheer.


NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009


That, more or less, sums up the movie 'The Beach Girls and the Monster'. Yes, this qualifies as one of the most pointless movies of all times. Putrid pile of dreck barely begins to describe it.

I enjoyed it immensely and heartily recommend it.

The special effects are special in the same way as brain-damage is special - and you might feel that you have been damaged after watching this movie. The acting is appalling, the writing is miserable, and the production values completely non-existent.
It is gorgeous. If other bad movies are sedate virgins putting on trollop makeup for the first time, this movie is a proud harlot flashing huge garish boobs of badness. So grab the popcorn and make an evening of it.

1965, directed by Jon Hall, starring Jon Hall (!), Arnold Lessing, and Sue Casey.

Warning: includes bikinis, bongo drums, and really stupid dialogue.

The basic premise is that a giant fish-monster is killing surfers. Especially slow-moving surfers. Who are on the beach, not in the water - they're never in the water, there is no actual surfing in this movie. But there are plenty of scantily-clad white chicks jigging to bad music, so it's not a total loss, though it may very well make you embarrassed about white people dancing.

Of course, you could instead cringe over the music. That too would be an appropriate reaction. I assume that you are already comfortable with bad acting and horrid scripts?

Spoiler: The monster is an angry fish doctor dressed in a cheesy costume who hates beach bums, teenagers, and his wife. He does them in by first trying to choke them, then clumsily slashing their face with his clawed hand. This surprises them so much that they die of shock.
We know that it cannot be because of blood loss - the producers forgot to include fake-blood in the budget.

Ooh, there are those white chicks jigging again! Same tune, too!

Monday, March 09, 2009


The UN's relief agency for Palestinian refugees does all it can to enable the continued misery of the people in its charge. Or so it often seems. This is the moral of a news item on the BBC website about the rebuilding of a refugee detention facility (refugee camp) in northern Lebanon destroyed by extremists and the army duking it out in 2007.

The funds available for rebuilding are only a tenth of what will be needed, due to Lebanon's Arab friends not having delivered the funds that they pledged.
This may be because improving the lot of "fellow Arabs" is not nearly as exciting as funding outrageous acts, and a refugee camp for a group of substantially settled second class citizens does not have quite the investment romance of bomb belts and random acts of violence.


"This is not life, this is not life. We need to change this country. We have no rights here, we have no rights. We need life. Where is the life? Here, no life."

There are more than 200,000 Palestinian refugees in Lebanon, living in 12 camps across the country.

Palestinians have been here for more than 60 years - since the creation of Israel - but they are still barred from at least 70 professions, have no access to state education or healthcare, and cannot move freely or buy land.

These conditions turn the Palestinian camps into a breeding ground for extremism, a time bomb which will inevitably explode according to a recent report by the think tank, the International Crisis Group.



Note: Regarding that assertion about "a time bomb which will inevitably explode", methinks that the International Crisis Group needs to use a broader spectrum of tenses.
Anything that happened in 1975 is PAST TENSE.

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