Friday, October 30, 2009


Cruised into a Dutch news site after lunch, as is my wont.
I really don't know why I bother anymore, as usually I will find something that makes me wish that the entire Netherlands would be consumed by fire and the Northsea waves.

It is a guarantee that any article mentioning crime in the US, Hollywood celebs, or some American scandal, will be graced by a flood of reader comments - the Dutch, apparently, have little interest in their own crimes or scandals, but plenty of interest in ours - and at least one of the comments will always assert that Americans are the most perverted, the most insane, the most disgusting, the most vulgar, the fattest, or the most depraved people on the planet. The very worst of something, in any case.

[Netherlanders tend to overlook their own rather ghastly qualities. Fortunately, not too long ago I detailed some things the Dutch have deliberately forgotten about here:
Please do a favour for the natives of Banda and remember these things for them, as they themselves can not do so.]


An article in today's Telegraaf mentioned that people with AIDS will finally be allowed to travel to the US, as president Obama intends to lift the entry ban soon. The process to lift the ban carried over from the previous administration.

The article itself is not really interesting.

"Na een verbod van 22 jaar gaan de Verenigde Staten weer personen met aids of hiv toelaten tot het land. De ban wordt in 2010 beëindigd, maakte de Amerikaanse president Barack Obama vrijdag bekend. "
[Translation: 'After a ban of 22 years, the United States will again permit people with AIDS entry. The ban will end in 2010, as per American president Obama on Friday']


Plain and straightforward, nothing odd or meshune. The article, remarkably, is not anti-American.

The comments underneath are.

All three of them.

Comment 1.
tja waarom ook eigenlijk niet, het is daar toch uitgevonden ?
---C.C, Groningen 20:42 30.10.09
[Tr: 'Sure why not? It was invented there anyway.']

This reader accuses the United States of inventing AIDS. You've probably run into that assertion before, usually on the internet sites frequented by the 'not-fully-in-touch-with-reality' crowd.
Of which, it must be said, a very large percentage live in Europe and the Middle-East. People who write such things are poisonous little blobs, often alcoholic, frequently twisted beyond redemption. Probably resentful Old-World inbreds.

Comment 2.
Iedere zichzelf respecterende Aids / HIV patient zal de USA toch zeker wel links laten liggen!!?Wie denken die Yankee Doodles eigenlijk dat ze zijn :((
---Rick Vogelschrik, Spike City 20:56 30.10.09
[Tr: 'Every self-respecting AIDS / HIV patient would surely avoid the USA!!? Who do those Yankee Doodles even think they are?']

I suspect that Rick has no clue about the immense amount of research that has been done on AIDS in the United States, nor about the pioneering programs that started in San Francisco (location of this blog, by the way).
Frankly, Rick, your statement is hideously insulting, as it overlooks the fact that ground-zero of the epidemic was in the US, in San Francisco ( I lost many friends over the years, Rick, friends who were far far better people than you or any supercilious arrogant know-nothing Nederlandsche kloojak), it overlooks the fact that AIDS activism started in San Francisco, where also many of the approaches to fundraising, charity, care, and comfort of people with AIDS were developed, and it ignores the truly herculean work of such organizations as the San Francisco Aids Foundation.

Perhaps, Rick, you should just shut your ignorant Dutch gob and retreat to your hole?

Comment 3.
De meeste nieuwe virussen die volgens Amerika uit bijvoorbeeld Afrika of Azië komen (ook HIV) zijn in werkelijkheid met het geld van aandeelhouders in de pharmaceutische industrie gecreëerd in de VS om hun eigen zakken te vullen. Ze gaan letterlijk over lijken met hun drie grootste inkomstenbronnen: wapens, olie en medicijnen. Mij houden ze niet langer voor de gek, maar helaas is onze regering bevriend met ze.
---Flipje, Voorburg 21:15 30.10.09
[Tr: Most new viruses that originate in Africa or Asia, according to America (including HIV), actually were created with funds from shareholders in the pharmaceutical industry in the US to fill their own pockets. They literally go over corpses with their three largest sources of income: weapons, oil, and medicine. They ain't fooling me any longer, but alas our government is 'friends' with them.']

Flipje represents a type frightfully numerous in the Netherlands - a type that makes reading every Dutch website an experience akin to stumbling into a minefield. Not that they are quite the most common type of Dutchman, but many Ollanders will instinctively defend such people if an outsider (for instance, an American, Moroccan, Turk, or Jew) points out how gibberingly insane the Cheesehead in question really is. While a large number of rabid Dutch will happily and brutally mob the critic, others will say nothing and quietly stay in the background.
Even if the critic is right, there is no honour in siding with a foreigner, who in any case should know better than to find fault with the Dutch.

Remember, the Dutch are always right. Even when they are wrong, they are right. They will gang up on you and prove it.

In some ways it is a remarkably chickenshit little culture.

What Flipje in Voorburg also overlooks is the humongous Dutch investment in weapons, oil, and medicine - not only directly in Dutch companies headquartered in the Benelux (the Dutch are among the worst merchants of death in the world), but also by the Dutch in overseas companies. Individual Dutch, Dutch investment funds, Dutch insurance companies, Dutch banks, Dutch retirement funds, Dutch governmental organs, Dutch holding companies, and many among the Dutch ruling classes. The Dutch are far more fully vested in weapons, oil, and medicine than a very large part of the rest of the world.
If there is any evil afoot in those industries, then the Dutch too are complicit.

Irritating bunch, those Dutch.



There are now six more comments underneath that article.

Flipje added a long and very typical Dutch rant about wars, pollution, torture, intimidation, pornography, fast food, violence, foul language, greed, materialism, capitalism, loneliness, egoism, hardness, drugs.... all of which are in his estimation solely and entirely the fault of the Americans. Oh those evil Yankees!
Apparently he's forgotten Holland's four-hundred year role as worst imperial power of all time, all of the hardcore smut including sadistic child-pornography that is printed in Holland, the incredibly nasty 'food' offerings of the typical Dutch frituur ('fry shop'), murderous fights between Ajax and Feijenoord supporters...... and so on and so on.
And as regards drugs, dude! Amsterdam is stoner central. You guys are the worst dealers in the whole world. The air pollution above Mokum Alef reeks of tetrahydrocannabinol and heroine labs. Ever heard of ecstasy? The Netherlands is the world's number one supplier. Date rape drugs? Again, the Netherlands is the number one supplier - and probably the number one user, too. In any case, pioneers.
We are quite innocent compared to you lot.

Some other bozo (Michel) claims that AIDS doesn't really exist, followed by Kaan in Utrecht drunkenly spewing anti-American venom about 'guantenema' (stet) and 'israil' (stet), then whimpering on a bit about inequality (he wasn't strictly lucent).

A resident of Spijkenisse (a veritable hotbed of civilization and all that is good and holy and nice in the world) then avers that ALL diseases are made in labs.
I really have to wonder about the mad scientists that gave us head colds and athletes foot - life must have been so nice before laboratories.......

These remarks substantiate my friend Floris' contention that the comments underneath Dutch newspaper articles on the internet are usually from mental defectives -"getuigen van een borrelnoot ikuu" ('attest to a cocktail nut intellectual level').

I have to admit, everything he said about Dutch newspaper commenters was correct.
Sometimes a Dutchman is indeed right.

Thursday, October 29, 2009


Fellow blogger e-kvetcher has an important post today about sneeze pornography and neurotics. Really, you should visit his blog, you will be glad you did!
[This post in besonderes.]

But in that vein.......

For the past two months, Japanese porn spammers have been trying to post comments underneath one of my postings. Just one comment string, only one post. And I am baffled by it, as I cannot for the life of me figure out why.
Why that post? Why that particular comment string?

[In case you're interested, this post: , this comment string:
The post itself has NOTHING to do with porn, Japanese or otherwise.]


While I quite admire the Japanese approach to naughtiness, because they tend to use food-photographers instead of flunkies from the coroner's office to take pictures of naked bodies (with much better results, I assure you - many of the young ladies end up looking quite edible, instead of repulsively corpse-like - but I wouldn't know about that, as I lead a saintly porn-free life, and never EVER look at such pictures), I will admit that the Japanese also have some pretty 'unique' fetishes.

For example:
和服 Traditional Japanese clothing, though not always fully clothed.
体操服 Sport togs.
わき Armpits.
貧乳 Small mammaries.
ナース Nurses.
めがね Spectacle wearing damsels - Meganeko.
メイド Maids - young ladies dressed in frilly or gothic maid outfits.
ミミ付き Ears - girls with strap-on animal ears.
手こき Digital manipulation of a regenerative organ.
胸ちら Accidental mammary gland exposure (munechira).
スク水 or スクール水着 Sukumizu, school swim togs - girls wearing the typical very Protestant-looking swim suits common in Japanese high schools.

Anyhow, since I started noticing the pattern, I have saved many of the comments, without allowing them on the blog. All the commenter names had links - I had no urge to direct traffic away from myself. But it's some rather interesting stuff.

Herewith a sampling:

若妻 wrote:

エロ動画 wrote:



画像流出 wrote:


女子高生 wrote:

家出人 wrote:

Some of the pseudonyms are by themselves potent clues that the ensuing comment is highly pornspammic.
若妻 (wild concubine), エロ動画 (working mouth moving picture), 画像流出 (graphic image flowing out), 恋人 (love-sick person), 女子高生 (girl highly alive), and 家出人 (outside the home persons) are names that really say it all.

I flatter myself that the Japanese porn industry reads thousands of blog posts, and only picked a few to grace with their adverts. Only those posts that spoke to something deep within, posts capable of arousing a yearning, questing, emotive state, were chosen as billboards for linkage to quality smut.

Sometimes just one post out of many was, it was felt, worthy of the sexually predilective Japanese male attention. True cognoscenti would be charmed by the post, and thus receptive to a nudge nudge wink wink.
That post, on this blog, was 'CONVERSATIONAL STORMSURGE'. There is no porn there. But it was probably the Starwars metaphors that made it worthy.

Thank you, Japanese photography buffs. Your offerings are indeed very nice.
I feel honoured.
Something else too, but definitely 'honoured'.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009


A sunlit day over thirty years ago......

The Dutch Railway Company used to sell passes that allowed you to travel anywhere in the kingdom by train for eight days. Each summer, after we returned from Switzerland, I would purchase at least one such pass, and scoot all over the country.
Amsterdam - several times. Leeuwarden in the far north - once. Utrecht - several times. Naarden, where we stayed from my third year till my sixth - several times.

[Naarden was where the Bakker family lived, up the street from our old house. ]

I also travelled to several other places in the Netherlands. One of them being Middelburg on Walcheren in Zeeland province, a chartered city since the twelve hundreds.


Middelburg was one of the cities represented in the Dutch East-India Company (the others being Amsterdam, Delft, Enkhuizen, Hoorn, and Rotterdam), as well as the West India Company (the other cities being Amsterdam, Groningen, Hoorn, and Rotterdam).
The Middelburg Commercial Company was founded there, which would become the largest Dutch slave trading company and one of the major international concerns supplying prisoners from Africa to the New World by the middle of the eighteenth century.

[East India Company: Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie (VOC) 1602 - 1800. Traded with Asia, except where it was better to rob, plunder, and seize control of an area. West India Company: Geoctroyeerde Westindische Compagnie 1621 - 1791. Involved in trade, administration and piracy in the New World, primarily along the Atlantic coast of North America, in the Caribbean, and several horrible ventures in South America. Had a monopoly on the slave trade in the Dutch colonies till 1730. Middelburg Commercial Company: Middelburgsche Commercie Compagnie (MCC) 1720 - 1889. Founded as a general mercantile venture, involved in the slave trade from 1730 to 1807, thereafter a shipbuilder and wharf service provider).]

The city used to be more important than it is today. Evenso, the Germans thought it important enough to bomb during the second world war.


The train ride from Eindhoven to Middelburg takes several hours - one has to transfer from the express train to a local in Roosendaal, if I remember correctly. As the crow flies Middelburg is not very far from the main hub at Rotterdam - but the crow flies, he does not ambulate. Walcheren is a long peninsula, formerly an island, in the heart of Zeeland province to the south; the ambulatory bird would have to make a considerable loop to get to Middelburg.
Dozing, on a train bummeling through flat wet fields, is highly recommended.
I slept.

The return trip was more exciting. The late afternoon sun gilded the seats, and golden edges limned the distant trees and buildings. There were flickering shafts of light through lines of trees, and a soft zephyr from the window vents.
A few seats over the only other people in the carriage, an English woman and her two angelic daughters, were happily singing - some songs in Dutch, but most in English. They took full advantage of the fact that in a nearly empty carriage, no one would likely understand the lyrics, or object to their cheerful noise.

Several of their songs I recognized from a record by Elsa Lancaster - 'If you peek in my gazebo', 'Lola's Saucepan', 'The Husband's Clock', 'My New York Slip' - all slightly naughty.
Then came several songs of an even more questionable nature - 'Charlotte The Harlot', 'The Ring Dang Doo', 'The Winnipeg Whore'.
They sang very well.

I did not let on that I understood any of it, maintaining a poker face while smoking my pipe and pretending to read my book. Every couple of minutes I flipped a page, then moved my head as if following the text down and across.
By the time we got to Roosendaal, I was quite lost - I had progressed several chapters without reading a single word.
Three bowls of Coopvaert tobacco finished, the fourth halfway down.

[Coopvaert tobacco was a product of the house of Douwe Egberts (founded in 1752), described on the package as 'fragrant natural pipe tobacco ('Geurige Naturel Pijp Tabak), consisting of ribbon-cut Virginias, Maryland, and Java. I doubt that it is still made. Douwe Egberts was sold in 1978, and the tobacco side of the business has been farmed out to other companies since the eighties.]

It was marvelous. Magical, almost, listening to their singing, already knowing most of the songs, and enjoying their sweet performance. A loveable combination of innocence, depravity, and high spirits. These were no humorless continental bourgeois types, but knowing and self-confident citizens of the English-speaking world.

At Roosendaal, more people entered the carriage, and I got off. As the train started moving I could hear them singing 'Que Sera Sera' - whatever will be, will be.

"..... I asked my mother, what will I be? Will I be pretty, will I be rich? Here's what she said to me - 'que sera, sera, whatever will be, will be ....."

All sounds faded into the distance. I knocked the ashes out of my pipe, and waited on the darkened platform for the last train to Eindhoven.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009


Moderation in all things...... especially Spam and chocolate.
Yesterday's dinner has convinced me that moderation is a good thing.

After work I headed over to the bar to have a cocktail, where I discovered Lawrence and Don happily snarfing down Spam sandwiches - sourdough bread, shmear mustard, a layer of Spam, slices of hothouse cucumber.
It's truly amazing what you'll eat after you've imbibed. And I was having such a splendid time that I had a second drink. At which point the fresh, pink, sexy rosiness of the processed pressed pork shoulder with the overload of sodium looked ....... incredibly delicious!

Yes, the hothouse cucumbers really did make it a feast. A nice touch. Very elegant.

Spam is Philippino manna, by the way.
[Serve with little siling labuyo (pickled birdseye chilies), atsara (pickled shredded green papaya), vinegar and garlic dip, and banana ketchup. Sarap to da max, man! ]

Hawaiians also like spam.

So do the English - they even sing about it. Wonderful Spam. Spammity Spam.

Spam is the quintessence of modern culture.

Or so it may seem, when you've had a few.


When I got home I was not hungry. So I headed into the teevee room to watch 'My Neighbor Totoro', which is where I discovered the chocolate.
Somehow, a dozen bonbons disappeared while I watched a large furry creature with a red umbrella. Maybe more. It had once been a two-pound box, three days ago.
It is now nearly empty.

During the night I had amazingly vivid dreams. Technicolour and textural.
Including one dream informed primarily by an urgent need to micturate. Most uncomfortable.
It was the fault of the salt. At four in the morning, my body had finished processing the huge amount of sodium I had ingested, and no longer felt any need to retain water. Which proved disconcerting. Especially as my mind took a while to realize what was going on, and, still in a dream-state, filled in its own blanks.

If you are a man, you know what I mean.

Down the hall at quick-waddle.........

Think of cold water, think of rain, think of ocean waves. Do NOT think of lovely young teenagers in the swimming pool ........ oh darn!!!
Try more watery thoughts! Marshes, fens, and bogs. Creeks, streams, rivulets. Canals, ditches, channels. Grachten, vlieten, vaarten, sloten. Lakes, shallow meres, and pools of standing water. Sunlight reflecting off the surface. Naked girls frolicking in a swimming hole shaded by trees approximately a mile south of where the Dommel river flows past the mill (Venbergsche Molen), their thin elegant limbs and taut taut stomachs ......... oh darn it again!!!!

Better have a smoke, this might take a while.

Moderation. It's a good thing. It promotes a sound night's sleep.

If you're a man, you know what I mean.

Monday, October 26, 2009


I am a regular man. Which surprises me. I had not expected it at all.

When I still lived in Valkenswaard (North Brabant, the Netherlands), I would stumble downstairs at around seven while my dad was abluting, pour myself a cup of coffee and hurriedly read the Volkskrant or the Eindhovens Dagblad before he came down.

We would then exchange newspapers - he had snagged the Herald Tribune and taken it into the bathroom - and at some point I would finish my coffee, and perform whatever ablutions I deemed necessary before heading off to school. A bowl of pipe tobacco might sabotage my grooming - one cannot bathe and smoke at the same time.
Washing oneself in the dead of winter in Northern Europe in any case is predicated upon a fine balance between central heating, hot water, and suicidal tendencies.

[The miserable Dutch climate with its constant grim overcast plentifully ensured a sufficiency of the last item mentioned, the first two were, at that time, merely erratic benefits of modern technology at best.]

Factoring in the universal tobacco appreciation of that era, plus ever-present rain, and the societal results could be described as pungent. Dutch high-school students in the nineteen-seventies had to be experienced to be believed.
It is the fragrance of the past.

My father was a very clean man, militarily organized in his habits.
The RCAF may have had something to do with that. Three years of bombing Jerry inculcates regularity, I guess.
Up at six AM. Physical exercises while the coffee perks. Breakfast, then upstairs to the bathroom for forty five minutes. Ending with a thorough scrubbing, even with the heater out.
The routine does not vary, do not dare interrupt it without a very good reason.

[There is no good reason. In case you wondered. None.]

In 1978 I returned to the United States to go to school. Students, as is well-known, are not given to very organized habits.
School alone requires attention to time, nothing else does. Personal cleanliness may take a backseat to a bowl of fine tobacco in the morning, at eventide dinner may be delayed by a particularly juicy passage in Joyce (Ulysses).

[Thirty years after the fact I realize that there are NO particularly juicy passages in Joyce; reading the entire book, attentively to boot, was an act of insanity.]

Fast forward to the present.

Savage Kitten and I have been living together now for over sixteen years.

In the morning, she gets up first, fixes herself breakfast, and, after considerable prodding, retreats into the bathroom. It takes quite a bit of encouragement, too. The caffeine and her chipper morning personality combine to frightening effect. She is social. She has good cheer. She is talkative. She speculates about things. She wishes to interact. She will interpret for the small furry creatures, or spar with the one-legged monkey .

[More about the monkey here:
and here: ]

I am not like that at all in the morning - I merely want to get that first cup of coffee down. This will take twenty minutes. Then I shall wish to enter the bathroom, where I intend to smoke and read for half an hour before doing anything else - which will take fifteen minutes.
I do not wish to be interrupted during that time. If you are going to interrupt, you had better have a very good reason.

So before I fix my second cup of coffee (the bathroom cup), I drop hints. "Honey Pie", I will say, "I shall need to use the bathroom soon".
She continues chattering as if she didn't hear me. "Sweety-Boogums, I'm going to fix my second cup now."
Not reacting in any way, she continues quoting from the latest book that she's reading.
Somewhat later, as I'm in the kitchen stirring the cup, I notice that she is still sitting on the bed.
"Muffin Cake, you DO know that coffee inevitably starts the peristaltic process, " I patiently explain, "and that means that certain needs will become painfully apparent within a set time from that first gulp of coffee"
She pretends obliviousness, and continues arguing with the sock sheep and the one-legged monkey that share our bed.
Several more minutes pass, and I take a sip of coffee while contemplating my next move.
"Ummm, dearest, if you need to pee, perhaps you should...." I will now venture, gallantly offering her EVERY CHANCE TO USE THE FACILITIES before I monopolize them.

It takes quite a bit of prodding.

It is not unusual for me to writhe painfully on the floor while waiting for her to come out of the bathroom.
Not inevitable, but not at all unusual.


There have been times when she has urgently needed to use the bathroom while I have been ensconced within the noble precinct. Despite the inconvenience I have inevitably yielded - one should always let a lady pee. It is the gentlemanly thing to do.

This morning I had finally reached the stage of rinsing off the soap, when a frantic voice came from the other side of the door.
"Just a moment," I yelled, while grabbing smokes, book, notepad, pen, spectacles, and towel.
As she hurriedly slammed the door behind her, she muttered something about Navrattan Korma making one regular.

I do not need Navrattan Korma, sweetheart.
I am already regular.
Positively British in that regard.

Friday, October 23, 2009


Yesterday evening nearly 180 Israel-haters faced off against about fifty pro-Israel activists. The occasion being a speech by e-prime minister Ehud Olmert to the World Affairs Council at the St. Francis Hotel in Union Square.
Olmert's presence was merely another excuse for the people who want Israel wiped off the map to scream angrily in public.


The protest against Israel had been organized by Arab Resource & Organizing Center (AROC), Bay Area Campaign to End Israeli Apartheid (BACEIA), CODEPINK, Friends of Deiribzi'a, Northern California International Solidarity Movement, Middle East Children's Alliance (MECA), South Bay Mobilization, Stop AIPAC, CAL Students for Justice in Palestine, US Palestine Communities Network (USPCN), Bay Area Women in Black.

Given the sheer number of organizations who claimed sponsorship, the turn-out by the anti-Israel crowd was pretty pathetic. Less than two hundred people, half of whom were the not academically gifted children of Palestinian liquor store owners.
The remainder consisted of agitators from International Answer, the misguided Jews from the usual cliques of mutually supportive deviants (JVP, Women In Black, Brit Tzedek, etc.), and a few members of Queers United Against Israeli Terror ('Queers for Hamas') - whose voice is much reduced since Tom Ammiano is no longer on the board of supervisors.

Dick Becker's chief-flunky Forrest was also there, as well as Lily Haskell's handler from the Lawyers' Guild. And several other known quantities.

There were no people on the anti-Israel side in favour of co-existence, which may explain why several of the chants were about freeing Palestine from the river to the sea, dying gloriously in jihad against the evil Jew, down down Israel, with our souls and our blood, and whores.

[That last one was very strange - something about Richard Becker and his love-associates, perhaps? It was nearly unintelligible, given the vast spectrum of Arab accents - everything from coarse Egyptian through Hadramawti and Yemeni to Morrocan. Mostly American-raised schoolkid.]


Inside, Olmert's speech inside the hotel was interrupted several times, resulting in the arrest of over twenty troublemakers.
Outside, the police did a fine job of keeping the two sides apart, despite attempts by infiltrators from the disaffected side to pick fights with women and elderly Jews on the pro-Israel side.

The spirit on the pro-Israel side was lively and feisty.

The anti-Israel crowd was bellicose and blood-thirsty. And frustrated. In more than one way.

Forrest (Richard Becker's butt boy) was severely disappointed that the police escorted him back to the other side - contrary to what Baruch believes, I really think Forrest wanted to be photographed in front of Victoria's Secret, with that huge poster of the curvy woman wearing two frilly nothings in the window.

The San Francisco Chronicle mis-reported the event, of course, relying on the Associated Press stringer who had an early dinner appointment.

Festivities ended at around seven thirty, when San Francisco Voice for Israel declared victory, thanked the SFPD for their good work, and headed home.

Several of the Muslim teenagers hung around Union Square aimlessly afterwards, being still far too young to go to a bar to crow about their performance.


To 'Saddle-bags' from the Lawyers Guild: next time you see Lily Haskell, tell her 'Alai' said 'hi'.
To Abdullah Q: do you know that your sister is seeing that black kid?
To Ahmad: man you're stupid - you didn't even recognize me! Hee hee hee!
To Myra: they think you're kinda plain and dull - some of them think that's why you left the Jews and joined them.
To Moonwind: Rifa'at simply wants to get into your panties. One more won't make a difference.
To Afifa: for g-d's sake, use condoms!
To the chubby blonde in the centre: he's just shtumping you 'cause you're easy, honey, once his cousin finishes college he's getting married. But enjoy it while it lasts, in the best of health.
To Lily Haskell: see you at the next Aipac protest, dearie.
To Naeema: sorry to hear about your mom.
To Dick Becker: I heard that you were rather small..... Now I believe it.
To Forrest: is ANYTHING going right in your life?
To Hatim: does your uncle know about your lousy grades?
To Ra'eed: how's your father doing? Everything okay at the store? Tell him Rick said 'hi'.
To S.: how are you gonna raise the kid? Jewish but self-hating, or Gentile and Jew-bating?
I guess you ain't ever gonna let you mom visit, huh?
Oh, and that also goes for 'Brian', 'Moe', and 'Sue'.


One a personal note, the highlight of the evening was when the gorgeous young Asian girl and her friend strolled past and smiled at me. Woooo!
Red red lipstick and fishnets. Woooo!

Thursday, October 22, 2009


A teacher in Denmark was severely beaten up for shaking the hand of a female student at the Abildgård school after a parent-teacher meeting.

The assault happened in the presence of a female teacher who had also been in the meeting. The father of the student was infuriated that the teacher had shaken his daughter's hand and thus offended his family honour.
He also bit the ear of the teacher during the fracas. The father was a Palestinian.

Article (in Dutch):,1

I can already see you shaking your head, convinced that there is just no living with these people.......
But I really must point out that the teacher is also an Arab.
As is the teenage daughter of the assailant. Who probably is embarrassed as all git out by her father's behaviour.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009


Yesterday evening Dutch lawmaker Geert Wilders spoke at Temple University. If you weren't there, it will probably be a bit hard to figure out what happened. The reason being the hyperbole on both sides and the somewhat overblown news coverage.

Cite ONE

The news clip above suggest a calm and rational evening, the intro-text by the person who posted it avers otherwise.

Cite TWO,2

The article from De Telegraaf (in Dutch) alleges that Geert Wilders was booed off by the crowd of students. The article makes it seem like the crowd massively screamed their disapproval and chased him off stage.

I get the impression that reporters are not familiar with American college campi.
Loud noises, catcalls, and a hypercritical audience for speakers are fairly common.

Geert Wilders, as a politician, should in any case be used to Bronx cheers and rude shouting. Certainly he has been exposed to that in the Dutch parliament.

Other news reports suggest a fairly quiet and low-key response by those who disagreed with his message.

Quote:"About 100 students who came remained silent throughout his 17-minute "Fitna" film, which casts Islam as the culprit behind terrorism since the turn of the century. During a 25-minute speech that followed, he said the increasing Muslim population in Europe is causing a retrenchment of freedom.
Most of the 80 students gathered outside to protest Wilder's appearance quietly held signs or passed out pamphlets.
"We've had to deal with hate speakers before," said Monira Gamal-Eldin of Temple's Muslim Students Association. "What he's preaching is not free speech. He is funneling hate toward one group of people."
A small minority like freshmen Erik Jacobs, however, said Wilders' appearance and the peaceful protest showed off the virtues of free speech."

End quote.



The New York Times has perhaps the best coverage: their account of the event describes audience reaction to Geert Wilders remarks, quotes him, and also cites students' comments.

His remarks were met by a mixture of applause and boos, and occasionally gasps -- particularly when he stated that ''our Western culture is far better than the Islamic culture and we should defend it.''
End quote.


He decried as a ''disgrace'' a resolution co-sponsored by the U.S. and Egypt, and backed by the U.N. Human Rights Council earlier this month, deploring attacks on religions while insisting that freedom of expression remains a basic right.
End quote.

I would be leery of anything backed by the Human Rights Council, given its sorry track record and inclusion of the worst human rights violators. The United Nations in general might do well to stuff a sock in it too - the right to say horrid things is precisely what freedom of speech is about. If Geert Wilders wishes to call the Koran worse than Mein Kampf, insist that Islam is an intolerant ideology that encourages violence, or even aver that the prophet Mohammed was a brigand, a rapist, and a depraved pedophile who violated a nine year old, who the hell are the third-world gangsters, tyrants, and mother-violators in the United Nations to deny him that right?

None of the Muslim nations has freedom of speech, most of them are brutal dictatorships, and hardly anywhere in the Muslim world are non-Muslims treated as equals, despite having been in those countries longer than the Muslims.
All of you foreign Thugbucket tyranies, kindly shut the F up. Thank you.

A question-and-answer session was cut short after the tone of the event began to turn nasty, with some in the crowd of several hundred students began shouting jeers. Wilders' security detail quickly ushered him from the room.End quote.

That's quite a bit different than the impression that De Telegraaf paints. It also makes clear that he was not booed off, but that his security detail made a decision to extract him.
Paid protection tends to be very pragmatic about such things.

''I think it's completely wrong that someone who promotes racism and intolerance should be given a platform at this university,'' said Temple student Josh Rosenthal. ''It's hate speech disguised as free speech.''
End quote.

Josh Rosenthal appears to have problems thinking. Perhaps Josh Rosenthal should contemplate his navel instead of speaking. Idiot.

Another student, Joseph Rodrigues, said that being able to voice unpopular opinions is a freedom not to be taken lightly. ''I might not like what he said, but I think it's important that he be allowed to say it,'' he said.End quote.

Mr. Rodrigues is correct. It is important that one be allowed to say things that other people do not like. This is a fundamental right denied to many in the Muslim world. It is also a fundamental right of Muslims in the United States, some of whom are in fact students at Temple University. A number of whom made their point calmly, without causing any disruption.

Temple University students are free to disagree with Geert Wilders. Just as free as Geert Wilders must be to say disagreeable things.

And as free as the audience must be to hear what the man has to say.



If you're offended by whatever Geert Wilders says, you have the freedom to either counter-argue him, or ignore him. You also have the freedom to say nasty things about him, his ideology, and many other things. And really, there is nothing wrong with exercising that right.

You may also say whatever you want about other religions. Just bear in mind that no one really cares what you think about the Flying Spaghetti Monster and his Noodly Appendage, nor what your opinion is of the Grelzakian Toadcult.
You are far less important than you think you are.
Stop acting like you are a victim and grow up.



The nine year old mentioned above in connection with the prophet Mohammed was Aisha bint Abu Bakr, who was only six or seven years old when betrothed to Mohammed. She continued living with her parents for several more years before the marriage was consummated, allegedly when she was nine or ten years old. But the traditional sources can be doubted, as this may very well be hyperbole serving to emphasize her purity and youth - she was the only one of Mohammed's wives to have been a virgin when she married him.

[Sources suggest that succession and legitimization issues may have influenced the narrative - her father Abu Bakr (Abu Bakr As-Siddiq also known as Abdallah ibn Abi Quhafa, 573 CE to 634 CE) became the first Caliph after Mohammad's death in 632 CE. Additionally, she is the source for many of the ahadith of the prophet's life, which later generations took as sources of authority. So there may be more to her reputed age at the time of her wedding than meets the eye.]

After their wedding, she continued to play with her toys - Mohammed would join in to make her happy.

Aisha is said to have been Mohammed's favourite wife, and they had great affection for one and other. Her tent curtain became the prophet's battle flag.

During his final illnes, the prophet sought her apartments and expired with his head in her lap in 632, aged 82 years.
She survived him by forty six years, being 65 when she died.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009


Dutch politico Geert Wilders is scheduled to speak this evening in Philadelphia at Temple University. And predictably, the Muslims and the Socialists are outraged.

[Per this article in De Telegraaf:,1
and this mention on the Philly Independent Media Center site: ]

Frankly, my piles bleed for the poor bastards. Truly.

By which I mean of course that they can go piss up a rope, and I hope the blow-back gets in their eyes. They are pigs - sod them.


Geert Wilders is popular in the Netherlands because he has struck a nerve. Many Dutch people are fed up with the chickens in the Hague who seem determined to sell the country downriver, and with the unassimilatable element from outside who figure prominently in the crime statistics. Geert Wilders has called for limitations on immigration, particularly from the Muslim world, and has expressed strong opinions about Islam.

I will admit that I do not see eye to eye with Mr. Wilders, even though I am no fan of either Muslims or Islam.

There is a Koran on my desk which has passages in it with which I quite disrespectfully disagree, very much even that I find utterly repulsive, the book inspires truly evil behaviour.
On the other hand, the poetic quality of Koranic Arabic is quite splendid. And Islam has produced some great thinkers.

There are many Muslims whom I absolutely despise, and the prospect of more of that type entering the Western World sickens me; a great many Muslims are odious, uncivilized, barbaric, and cruel.
Yet some of the finest people I know are Muslims, whose kindness and generosity has greatly improved the world in their vicinities.

Some excellent writers are Muslim - even in the Netherlands, where Abdelkadir Benali enriches Dutch literature.

One splendid example of an admirable, fully integrated Muslim, and a very good man indeed, is the mayor of Rotterdam: Ahmed Aboutaleb.
Mr. Aboutaleb has managed to irritate commentators across the full spectrum of political views, chiefly by being intelligent, independent-minded, and capable.

Let me repeat that: intelligent, independent-minded, capable.Any of those qualities is quite unusual for a Dutch bureaucrat.

The Netherlands and Europe could use more men like Abdelkadir Benali and Ahmed Aboutaleb.

So while on one level I agree with some of the things Geert Wilders has said, I find myself also disagreeing.

I appreciate him for what he is: a gadfly. Dutch society desperately needs gadflies, lest the Dutch establishment become rigid and constipated. The average Dutchman often needs a clout on the side of the head to knock some sense into him.
Geert Wilders is tonic to Dutch society.

As the various comments (in Dutch) under the Telegraaf article make clear:,1
[It is interesting that many of the people who disagree with Geert Wilders are both native speakers of Dutch, and lousy spellers. Many of them being rather dull may be taken for granted. ]


That Geert Wilders irritates the spit out of the Muslim Students Association and the Socialist retards at Temple University is icing on the cake. If those jihadniks and morons cause any disturbance this evening, they should all be arrested.
A pox on them, on their ideologies, on their attitudes, and on their families and retrograde backgrounds. And a pox on the Philly Independent Media Center, which like all of Indymedia has been hijacked by the various ultra radical groupings, and represents the worst and most blatantly social-destructive elements among the disaffected.
Let Geert speak.

Monday, October 19, 2009


Last week was my birthday. I turned fifty. I have officially joined the ranks of geezers. Or, as some might say, I am now an old fart.
That makes me feel like Portnoy in Bloom County, when he turned seven years old.

I am still very very liberal. Honestly. I can dance.


Let us make a list, shall we?

Gout. Arthritic joints. Partial deafness. Bile. Grump. Smell.
These are all ailments that I already have. Yep, I'm old.
Boruch Hashem I don't have 'Old Man's Penis'.

[Old Man's Penis is when you think you've finished micturating, and just when you've zipped up your fly, there's another sudden dribble. "Oh darn it", you say, "these pants were clean, I was planning to wear them for several more weeks....... perhaps no one will notice".]

The gout affects my right foot primarily, and is caused by various things - most notably a man-size portion of gehakte leber.
The arthritic joints are probably due to growing up in a bog.
Partial deafness is a blessing. Trust me.
Bile is an attitude, an outlook, and a way of life.
Grump is the natural result of gout, arthritic joints, partial deafness, and bile.

The SMELL is tobacco. If you don't like it, don't breathe.

[Who told you you could breathe? I didn't tell you you could breathe. What makes you think you can breathe? Stop it. Shut up. Now go.]

I mention all this, because birthdays were recently discussed on two other blogs.


Snooky Wong ('Death By Noodles') mentioned having cake for a friend's birthday. She loves cake.

The friend was apparently someone in much better physical shape than myself.
To quote:
"So how old IS he? About fifty five? Sixty? He still LOOKS vibrant and vigorous - must be all that rich sweetened butter cream filling his joints. And the fruit. Fruit is healthy."

Young lady, I am not entirely pleased that you know some old geezer who still looks vibrant and vigorous, someone who is clearly in better shape than myself. He's that old that he should look decrepit and slightly seedy. It's only proper.

Stephanie 周 ('Infectious Asian') happily gloats about the gifts she got from her uncles. Lots of books. An eclectic selection.

Her mother did not give her books, however.
Quote:"Ma gave me a brassiere. Tres femmy.

Well now.
Did I mention that I have a good eye? A keen ability to aesthetically appreciate all of the good lord's creations?
Proportion, youthful skin hue, delicate terminations of the appendages, gazelle-like poise and grace - these are all things I know well, and about which I can discourse informatively.

Also, I'm still amazingly vibrant and vigorous. Honestly. And very very liberal.
Did I mention my birthday?
I can dance.

Friday, October 16, 2009


Everyone seems to be bellyaching about the humidity. These San Franciscans, they are uncomfortable when the air is moist. Warm and moist.
And yet they claim that the air here is more humid than many other places.

They're not fully in tune with reality. This place is normally dry as a mummy. California is a desert. Even San Francisco.

The Netherlands is quite otherwise. So is South East Asia. Things smell different there.

For the past three days I have been remembering odours.

Landing at Manila Airport (wet and rotten), the room where I slept in the house in Makati (faint hint of incense - Auntie H. burned sandalwood there everyday to mask the horrid pong of white person) and also the hallway from the dining room to the back of the house (camphor, green soap, and mildew).
The kitchen too, of course - it smelled very Chinesey.

The intersection in Binondo where we wrecked the jeep (machine oil, fear, and something very rotten), Ongpin Street (El Presidente Restaurant - clams in blackbean sauce, eels braised in rice wine, kangkong with bago'ong and garlic), the bakery along the estero near Benavidez (spilled tea, hot butter, and something fishy).
Isaw na babui grilling near the bridge - sweet and meaty!

Also copra on the boat from Balinguan, rain outside the stilt village, the inside of the warehouse in Cagayan (smoke, tar, rubber), and mr. Dee's house in Mambajao.

Durian, of course, and dried fish (daing). Salty ferments. Stale sweetness. Spilled condiments and strange fires.
At night, smouldering katol.

I shall not mention the burning canefields, or the grass square outside of the school buildings where the PC interrogated captured NPA.


Mostly, the smell-memories are tropic, and induce hunger. And perhaps part of that has to do with what I cooked for dinner last Sunday: Chicken Adobo (chicken chunks in a soy and vinegar gravy with garlic and peppercorns), steamed fatty pork with shredded ginger and fish paste on bruised lemon grass, braised long beans with mild yellow curry and red chilies. Plus various vegetable accompaniments. There was a touch of stinky fish-product in everything. The kitchen smelled like a Philippino flop-house afterwards.

I wish there were a place around here where I could get tapsilog for lunch. Not too hep on Jollibee, though. It lacks that auntie touch.

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

Thursday, October 15, 2009


Thank you for telling me what a Cleveland Steamer is. As well as alerting me to the Vegetarian Hot Lunch, the Glass-bottomed Boat, and the Strawberry Shortcake. And as for that explanation of the Minivan, wow, that's one little datum I sure can't wait to share.
It was a cocktail-party chat to remember.
[These prizes, as well as many more, are explained here: ]

Have you considered therapy?

I only say this because, well, conversationally you are a disaster zone.

Example ONE
Sitting between both of you at the bar, one of you detailing in that unintelligible mumbled drawling growly basso-profundo what a god Michael Jackson was, the other one of you con-mucho-falsetto telling totally unprintable Michael Jackson pedophile jokes nonstop.

I did not need to know he was circumcised.

Example TWO
All three of you disputing, loudly, your paranoid conspiracy theories about Obama.
He's a Communist. He's a Muslim radical. He's the head of the Indonesian Illuminati.
You do realize that everyone within hearing distance thought you were barking mad, don't you?

They were right.

Example THREE
Yes, the German Storm trooper uniforms ARE uber-cool. But no, the SS would not want you under any circumstances - you're gay, you're Jewish, and, clearly, you're missing screws. You're flaming, dude.
But if I meet any jack-booted Germans, I'll be sure to tell them you said 'hellooooooooo, soldier!'.

And that you're free. For them.

Example FOUR
How many of my fellow pipe-smokers does it take to sound like a flock of geese?
No, seriously, are ninety-five percent of all the world's pipe-smokers gibbering maniacs?
One of you has a sense of humour that falls flat all the time, one of you sounds like you've got ADD because of too much caffeine, one of you reduces everything to an engineering question (that's the LAST time I'll ever mention polecats), one of you watches every nice pair of legs that goes by and then tells us about it in extraordinary detail (dude, we saw it too - we we're right here), and one of you keeps bringing up Mesopotamia.
Mesopotamia? WTF.
And that story about George accidentally stomping the pigeon to death was really old a year ago. It does not improve with every telling, nor with all of you telling it one after the other IN EXACTLY THE SAME WAY!

That's an ugly pipe, by the way.
You've got bad taste.
I really thought you should know.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009


Normally the first storm of the season isn't until later. Much later. But yesterday it rained heavily, with wind gusts of up to fifty knots along the coast. Some commentators saw fit to call it a typhoon - the storm had blown in from Asia, and the rain was warm.

Calling it a typhoon was a bit of an overstatement, despite its ancestral provenance. Real typhoons bring in much more rain, much fiercer winds.
Unless you are a chicken, this was no typhoon. Such things do not occur in San Francisco.


The Tanguey family lived near the border of Pasig and Marikina, not far from where Bonifacio becomes Sumulong (though still called Bonifacio). The house was up on a concrete berm, above the warehouse, but the courtyard and sheds were marginally below street level.

Old man Tanguey (uncle Bennie) had made his modest pile by selling leather processing equipment of some sort, I never found out what.
When I told him how badly the tannery in Canterbury had smelled, his eyes twinkled cheerily, and he said "yes".
Knowing the stench of curing hides was something we had in common.
Besides favouring the same type of tobacco.

I was living with him and his family in between going to other parts of the Philippines. They were very nice people, and all of them had a queer sense of humour.
It was a good place. Good food, too.


We got back on Friday afternoon at about two o'clock, several hours before the storm hit. By nine o'clock the electricity went out, and the entire neighborhood was pitch black. All day Saturday the wind pounded the building, and sometime during the morning water crested the embankment of the river. Saturday night was very noisy - the walls and ceilings shook violently.

At some point after ten o'clock, Pingping (the youngest daughter of uncle Bennie) suggested "you go outside with that, okay?" The 'that' in question being a pipe.
I think she was joking - outside was not safe in the darkness, with torrents of rain slamming almost horizontal. Nevertheless, to please her I finished smoking it in the kitchen with the terrified maids. At about twelve thirty there was an enormous crash outside.

[Pingping may also have simply wanted me to go elsewhere for a while - white people whiff a bit when the temperature is around one hundred......]

By the next morning, the winds had lessened considerably, and a steady rain hazed everything in silver grey sheets. When we went outside, the steps into the courtyard disappeared in water about three or four feet from the bottom. There were five bodies wedged between the edge of the sheds and the shrubs at the back, behind one of the trucks. Two of the trucks were askew, one of them was tipped over.

All along the road up to Mendoza was under water, about two or three feet. In some areas deeper - near the basketball fields, only the roofs of the houses were above the flood.
There were many, very many, fallen trees lying everywhich way.

It was good to have real food again - on Saturday we had snacked on biscuits from a large red tin box, wedges of mooncake, and weak tea from the giant thermos flasks in the kitchen. The maids had been too scared to cook. Pingping's nanny had 'entertained' them with tales of disasters she had lived through as a youngster many years ago - "ehhhhh, water up to there! (points bony finger at ceiling), kambing and manok all ploating ploating, ploating, like pish! (waves hands horizontally just above her eyebrows to signify the drowned goats and chickens), sad, sad, sad!" - in between spells of loudly counting her beads and theatrically sighing.
I'm fairly certain that she had enjoyed herself immensely at the expense of the younger women.


Nanny went up to Calo'ocan for several days. When she left, she was cheerfully speculating that her brother and his family might all be dead. Apparently, that would be a "trahhhedia op unimatsi-nibal proporsion!"
She didn't seem at all depressed by the prospect.

Auntie Ningning (actually 'Luningning', and yes, she's the mother of Pingping) decided that we needed to go to Tabon in Bulacan where her sister lived. Auntie, Floriza, and Pingping, along with Ronaldo, Esty, and myself, as well as two drivers left the next day when the roads were said to be reasonably safe. We took the station wagons, leaving uncle Bennie and the men from the factory to deal with the mess and the tipped trucks.

On the way we passed through Antipolo, where there is a miraculous statue - mahal na birgen nang mabuteng-paglalayag (the 'statue of the virgin of good voyages').
Auntie Ningning remarked almost wistfully that her ancestors had tried to burn the idol - "but it perhaps lucky, lah, not charcoal yet".
I couldn't read her eyes behind the glasses. But I suspect that they twinkled.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009


During operation Cast Lead the Dutch state-sponsored news organization (NOS) featured reportage from Sander van Hoorn in Israel. Both Sander van der Hoorn and the NOS have a recognized anti-Israel bias.
Which at that time became blatantly obvious, as neither the NOS nor mister van Hoorn hesitated to demonstrate their true colours.

[NOS = Nederlandse Omroep Stichting (Dutch Broadcast Foundation).]

Please visit 'bad news from the Netherlands' for an interesting perspective on informing the public.

Many European news organizations are sodden with Israel haters (the British are notorious in that regard), and both articles and programming support their views. But the Dutch are certainly no slouches.

[Not only the NOS, but also newspapers like the Volkskrant, Telegraaf, Algemeen Dagblad, and several other Dutch publications, serve as frequent examples.]

Sander van Hoorn and his editors decided that the Dutch viewers did not need impartial and independent news, but required slant, bias, and propaganda. To that end, they engaged in a pattern of omission, distortion and manipulation.

An English language report detailing what they did can be found here:
[This site:]

The original (in Dutch) is here:
There are several other interesting articles about biased Dutch reportage on that page. Scroll down to 'Israels Gaza war in Dutch state-funded media NOS'.

[Israel Facts is an excellent website for facts about Israel and the Middle East in Dutch. One would wish that more Dutch reporters and editors would start reading here: , but perhaps their busy schedules do not permit much reading.]

Dutch anti-Semitism now thrives as never before. Those who rely on Dutch news sources are mal-educated and mis-informed and have been strengthened and encouraged in their bigotry.

The country that betrayed Anne Frank along with over a hundred thousand of fellow citizens during the dark days of World War II seems intent on making Jew-hatred part of its culture.

It's a way of life, I guess.

Note: a longer version of this post was originally published here:
This article has now been crossposted on this blog:

PS. Indien er Nederlanders zijn die mijn woorden willen tegenspreken verzoek ik beleefd dat in het Engels te doen. Het merendeel der lezers hier is Engelstalig, begrijpt u wel, en dienovereenkomstig niet bemachtigd ene vloek-en-verdoemnis preek in uw taal te begrijpen, hoe schoon gij ook schrijft.

Bij voorbaat uiterst dank.



By now everyone has heard that President Obama was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. Apparently, a bunch of deep-thinkers in Scandinavia decided that his singular achievements in the cause of peace were so extraordinary that, more than anyone else in 2009, Barrack Hussein Obama DESERVED the prize.

Obama's greatest achievement to-date is that he isn't Bush.

Not being Bush promotes peace like nothing else. Really.
It is, I'll admit, a rather good thing, this 'not being Bush'.
Quite praiseworthy.
But if that is Nobel material, we all qualify.
Can't we at least get a fairy wand for that?

Really, guys, couldn't you have made a better choice?

I mean, I like Obama and all, but he hasn't actually done anything yet. Wasn't there some longsuffering native vegetarian lady or bemedalled third-world gangster out there who did something truly significant?
Maybe some Arab who promised not to kill the nearest Jew?
An intellectual from Europe who started a macrobiotic charity?
Some South-African leader recognizing Apartheid somewhere (that's what they do - all South Africans can magically identify apartheid, in the most unlikely places - it's their unique gift).

Yeah, I truly appreciate you NOT giving it to Khaddafi (even though he has changed since his wild and foaming at the mouth young man stage), or Ahmedinejad (well, he hasn't bombed Israel yet ..... to many Europeans, that means he's a peacenik), or even the fat faced bozo in North Korea (hasn't kidnapped Japanese citizens in years, or journalists in months - he's a reformed man! Huzzah!).

But Barrack Hussein Obama?

To the rest of us it looks like you well-meaning Norwegians are so incredibly impressed with a handsome erudite black man that you just plumb bent over.

Big, black, and well-spoken? YØwzå!!!
Perhaps not good enough to date your daughter (you lot still ARE very white, over there in Norway - kinda like Swedes), but so very impressive that you yourself will just about drop your own pants for him.
Not Bush! And BLACK!! Even educated!!! Weeeeee!!!! He's divine!!!!!
Please like us, mister Obama sir!!!!!!

You distinguished Norwegian politicos are off your rocker.


Some conversations are, you know from the starting moment, completely pointless. Such as discussing poetry with someone from the Bengali speaking part of the world.
All poems are better in Bengali. No exceptions.
Literature is possible only in Bengali.
Art, science, philosophy?

It's Bengali.


I could've mentioned typhus, cholera, syphilis, malaria, malnutrition, food poisoning and epic diarrhoea, or notorious black holes. But I mentioned Shakespeare.
Who should've been born and buried near the Hooghli.
England is such a miserable place!
Avon, shmavon. Hah!

Something perhaps equally pointless is encouraging a Bonglo to consume strong liquor. Even if it is only to allow him to say even more absurd things. There is something in the head of the average Banglawallah that goes disastrously haywire whenever alcohol hits a metabolism so used to chandrapuli, chumchums, doodhpuli, kachagulla, laddoo, malpua, pakanpitha, pontua, shondesh, rosgollah, and sundry other items rich with ghee, khoya, sugar.......
Cardamom, saffron, attar, and even more ghee and sugar......
It's just very bad chemistry.
Too much sugar.

He began to twitch.

It was a very amusing conversation, despite the immense irritation. What made it especially good was at the end, when I sent him off into the cold foggy night after the bar closed. The booze hit his cerebellum even harder, because of the freezing temperature, and he started a conversation about Rabindranath Tagore with a streetperson looking for beer money.

I'm sure they got along very well.

Introducing the two of them created good in the world.

They have a lot in common.

All nights should end this way.

Benny Tagore would've approved.

Monday, October 12, 2009


File this under 'storm in a teacup': Muslim authorities in Aceh ('ah-chay') are fuming over a woman who did not wear a veil. It is horrendous, and presages the end of times. Civilization will end if this is let stand, and fire and brimstone may descend at any moment - film at eleven.

[Aceh is a staunchly Muslim province of Indonesia, having been Islamic longer than any part of that region. The Acehnese spent the better part of the last century and a half fighting for their liberty - first against the Dutch, then against the Dutch again, then against the Japanese, then against the Indonesians, then against the Indonesians again, then again against the Indonesians, and lastly, once more against the Indonesians.
After the Indonesians received unfair assistance from the divine by means of a Tsunami, the Acehnese finally agreed to a grudging peace.
Acehnese are obstinate and independent-minded.]

Clerics in Indonesia's conservative Muslim province of Aceh say they are outraged that an Acehnese woman has won the title of Miss Indonesia.
End quote.

The horror, the horror!!!

Qori Sandioriva, 18, won the Miss Indonesia title on Friday, beating 37 other contestants for the crown.
The clerics say that by failing to wear a veil during the competition she has betrayed her Acehnese roots and brought shame to the province.
End quote.

The idiocy, the idiocy!!!

Teung-ku Faisal Ali, the secretary general of Aceh's Ulama Association, told the BBC that anyone who represents Aceh must uphold the province's values.
He said Qori Sandioriva did not wear a veil during the competition and therefore did not represent the Acehnese people, who have strong Islamic faith and values.

End quote.



With all due respect, Teungku Faisal Ali is blowing it out of his ear. The veil, in any form at all, is a very recent introduction to Aceh and the rest of Indonesia. It is only because of a childish desire to emulate the Arabs that head-shrouding has even gained inroads in the Malayo-Indonesian region, and Acehnese women have been unveiled from the introduction of Islam till the modern era.
Many Acehnese women have had roles more glorious than their men, and have been leaders and entrepreneurs of great distinction.
Till recent times, their public face has been unhidden.

Would Teungku Faisal Ali speak disparagingly of such women as Tjut Nya Dhien, fierce leader for thirty years of the resistance to the Dutch?
Pictures of her show a stern face, with strong eyes and a determined mouth. And... no veil.
Considering the hair-styles that at that time were normal for Acehnese women, headcovering would have been a ridiculous imposition besides.

Certainly such people as Tjut Nya Dhien and her daughter can be considered immodest, by modern restrictive Islamic standards, especially if the focus is on aping Arabs.
But such 'immodesty' has served Aceh well. Far better, in any case, than any amount of ridiculous covering-up of Acehnese womanhood ever will.

How dare Teungku Faisal Ali even speak? He should be ashamed of his words, even if he cannot congratulate his kinswoman sincerely.


An exemplary Acehnese woman

Tjut Nya Dhien (b. 1846 or 1848; d. 1908) was the daughter of one commander (Nanta Setia) and the wife of another (Teuku Ibrahim Lam'nga) in the fight against the Dutch. Both men fell in the battle of Sela Glé Tarun in 1873. After their deaths, Tjut Nya Dhien assumed command of the troops and continued the struggle until 1901, spending most of that time in the jungles and hills.
Her second husband, Teuku Umar, perished in combat in 1899.
When the Dutch captured her, Tjut Nya Dhien was old, worn-out, arthritic, and nearly blind. And still she fought - she was taken in battle.
The Dutch exiled her to Sumedang in Java, where she died six years later. She spent those last years teaching the Quran to local people.

From a contemporary account:
"None of those men who were leaders in the long holy war of Atjeh against us hated us as fiercely or fought us as resolutely as she did, and few sacrificed so much, of both their power and property. Never, in her resistance, did she deviate by even one step, never did she doubt, never could she be bought. Transported, she died in exile. "Resigned", they say - but that cannot be believed! And why should we even desire any 'resignation' from her? As a salve on the wounds of our conscience? For the greater glory of our triumph?
No! Let us honour her as indeed our bitterest enemy, who was finally broken by our might."

Tjut Nya Dhien's daughter, Tjut Gambang (wife of Teungku Dhi Buket, who was the son of Teuku Tjik Dhi Tiro, Acheh's most famous guerilla leader) continued the war in the jungles of Atjeh, dying in battle in 1910.

Friday, October 09, 2009


Yes, boys and girls, it is time to play link-dump.

What I'm listening to at the moment:
Second choice:
Third choice:


Königgrätzer Marsch

Preussens Gloria

The British Grenadiers

Rule Britannia

Marines Hymn

Zulu - Final Attack (the scene from the movie with the actual soundtrack).


Azumanga Daioh - The best of Kimura

The school culture fest

Yukari's Driving


And, for those of you who had to take public transit to get here:
A large furry Totoro at the bus stop.

Youtube - it's a way of life.

Thursday, October 08, 2009


Sometimes I wonder whether the Berkeley Daily Planet has any shred of decency left. Is there no depth to which they will not stoop? Then there are times when I read the damn thing, or someone sends me an article, and I must refrain from vomiting.
Today is one such time.
Trust me, you need not know what that odious rag did now.

It still baffles me, after all this time, that the editor of that foul agit-prop pamphlet, Becky O'Malley, considers herself a journalist, a gifted writer, and a decent human being. Fortunately I am not the only person in the Bay Area to be appalled by her chutzpah.

According to the Berkeley Daily Planet Watchdog:
'The Berkeley Daily Planet, as we will show, is a font of anti-Jewish and anti-Israel expression. It defends itself from the ugly charge of anti-Semitism by professing, instead, a very strict interpretation of the rights of free speech. However, while we have found all manner of anti-Semitic hate ("free") speech, in a thorough review of all past issues we have found only one expression of hate speech directed at any other group. That other group is police officers. Since Michael and Becky O’Malley bought the paper in early 2003, we have not found one single expression of hate speech directed against gays, Muslims, blacks, or any other ethnic or religious group. ' End quote.


Chutzpah is not something of which one would normally accuse a person of sterling Wasp background (sarcasm!), but there is sufficient reason to make an exception.

According to the Berkeley Daily Planet Watchdog:
Quote: 'She made her name in Berkeley fighting every form of development and progress. As a member of the Landmarks Commission, in particular, she most vehemently fought against the building if a synagogue, Beth El. The Northern California Jewish Weekly, the "J" reported how she fought the synagogue in this way in its January 19, 2001 issue:
"Although the hearing proceeded, much of the time it was less than orderly. O'Malley continually interrupted, spoke over other commissioners and had to be told repeatedly by Edwards that she was out of order. She passed notes to commissioners who were not disqualified, made faces, shook her head and, at one point, left her seat, walked in front of the commissioners' table and got a speaker's card." '
End quote.

There are several very interesting links about Becky O'Malley and the Berkeley Daily Planet on the website of the Daily Planet Watchdog. It is a much more refreshing read than anything the Daily Planet has published in quite a while.
Please show your support of the exercise of first amendment rights by reading the articles on the website of the Daily Planet Watchdog


And, if you are so inclined, I encourage you to sign a petition calling Becky O'Malley and her henchmen to task:

Please note: previous mentions of the Berkeley Daily Planet by this blogger and other include the following posts: Hate and the Daily Planet; Berkeley Daily Planet - Hatred's Own Propaganda Rag; Berkeley Daily Planet: Anti-Semitic Fishwrap; The Berkeley Daily Planet-The Beginning of the End; Daily Planet Watchdog and the Bitter Bitch.
If you know of any other blog posts about the Berkeley daily Planet that are not mentioned here, feel free to cite them in the comments.

The Berkeley Daily Planet is distributed free (being actually an advertising sheet, albeit one with pretensions) and is worth every penny.

This article cross-posted on
Feel free to read it twice.

Wednesday, October 07, 2009


Location: on the sidewalk outside the new Federal Building on Seventh Street between Mission and Market.

Got there at about 5:20 PM.
Stayed till 6:00 PM.

Mostly, a waste of time. 'Borat' was there, gibberingly upset that we weren't - somebody had told him we would be out in force.
I gave him a cigarillo. It kept going out.


ATTENDEES: 150 to 160 people, mostly elderly, some substance abuser-types, a few young Pally looking fellows. One, maybe two, anarchist-bandanna across the ponim.
Average age of the crowd was forty or so, average skin-hue was middle-class Berkeley, average gender veered slightly towards earth-mother.
Half a dozen keffiyot maximum. Three things that looked like Palestinian colours, but no Palestinian flags.

SIGNS: 120 - 150, mostly on focus (Afghanistan), mostly ANSWER productions.
About sixteen of the signs mentioned Gaza, Occupsacrime, or The Right of Return - possibly all of them recycled from previous festivities.
One sign said" Without Justice, Freedom is Meaningless".

SPEECHES: Somebody (Borat, please stop screaming "you assholes" when you're standing next to me) quoted from Pastor Niemöller's famous text ("first they came for..."). Somebody else (Borat, stop shouting!) speeched about the war not being to the benefit of the people of Afghanistan, Iraq, or Israel (yes, that's right - 'not beneficial to the people of Israel').
Richard Becker said a lot, but by now Borat was going all apoplectic, and I couldn't figure out what Becker was going on about - sorry, I was distracted.

Gloria LaRiva accused the board of supes of being war-mongering imperialists, primarily because she and a companion got arrested on Mission Street last week for putting up posters - the nerve! (something about a twenty-thousand dollar fine?) - and secondarily because the Blue Angels will be in town this weekend. She also hates the Oakland City Government - they too are imperialist warmongers, chiefly because of their parking policies. Evil, evil, evil.

Someone else speeched about healthcare. Money for our schools. Old folks. The Cuban Five. The San Francisco Eight. Borat, will you just shut up! I'm here to take photos, count people and signs, and NOT to attract attention or pick fights. Yes, here's my lighter - those things do go out if you're not paying attention (because you're jumping up and down and screaming).

Daisy cutters on Afghan villagers. War crimes. Destruction of Afghan hovels. The recruiting of fourteen-year olds by the US military in our schools. Outing homosexuals.
A Vietnam vet spoke, a female soldier who had been in Iraq also. The San Francisco Labor Council sent it's support, but was not physically represented.
If Israel was mentioned at all, it was in passing, and only to the already converted.

POLICE: Ten officers in front of the door to the Federal Building. Another half dozen or so on the peripheries. A blue minyan walked past me on the other side of the street.

GENERAL IMPRESSIONS: No passers-by to impress, no swelling of the crowd. Some attendees left before I did. The guy dressed like a weird Greek Orthodox priest was there - he was the only one with an American flag. Two or three people had 911 truth signs. The three or four Palestinian teenagers had a bullhorn, but didn't use it. Borat was hideously upset that some of the signs mentioned Israel, or Palestine, or Gaza - "Zees piple, zey are not on our side I don't zeenk". Couldn't have said it better myself.
There were three news vans there. It must be a slow day.

I have no doubt that many in the crowd hate Israel - that's par for the course at most far-left protests, the strident ideology attracts vermin.
But Israel was not the focus. There actually wasn't a focus.


This past Sunday I did not watch the Family Guy on television. But apparently I should have.
One of the characters discovered that she was Jewish.

I just love it when people discover that they're Jewish. It's nearly as amusing as when they discover that they are Native Americans or Gypsies. Interesting eccentricities and quirks surface that reflect some long repressed facet of their never before realized identity.

I myself shall at some point discover that I am a repatriated Zulu or Grelzakian Toad Cult high priest, and will insist that you respect that.
Now excuse me while I run around widdershins screaming something unintelligible - it's part of who I am.
The beads represent my ethnic pride.

But anyhow.

[Watch it here: ]

Horribly repulsive episode. Seth MacFarlane and crew have surpassed all previous standards of insult and stereotyping.

Family Guy usually is the most offensive show on the tube, featuring unrealistic depictions of every group on the planet except the Irish.

I wonder why they never parody the Irish.....

If I were Irish, I'd be planning to bomb them right now. I have seldom seen such a Hibernophobic show. Appalling, despite its accuracy.
Yes, the dog usually is the most intelligent member of the family, but did you HAVE to make him so supercilious?

Brutal realism isn't funny, guys.

On the other hand, Meg Griffin is the smokingest hot hot hot shiksa on the tube. G-d Meg is hot! I mean, that girl is smoking! Woohoo. Yowza. A total babe.
Why doesn't she have her own fan site?
Internet porn got nothing on her.

Tuesday, October 06, 2009


What I really wanted to write about today was something else, but I got distracted by the news.
Per an article in a foreign newspaper some Germans are upset about a product that our company manufactures.

To them it looks far too much like a penis (no, we do not manufacture wurst).

Suffice to say that Germans are both filthy minded and insane. Some of them.

Apparently they (the filthy minded insane Germans) are now boycotting our entire product line.

I'm giggling like an idiot right now.

Thank you, Germans!


I cannot remember what I was originally going to write about. See, I was reading a foreign news publication over the internet while eating, when I saw mention of our penissy product (the one that angers filthy-minded Germans). As well as the outrage.
Have you ever shot a tomato and cheese sandwich out of your nose? I can now say that I have. It's a new experience.
The particular sandwich (tomato and cheese) will stand in for all possible sandwiches, and I shall not need to do that again. I now know what having sandwich matter shooting out of each nostril feels like.
My knowledge has thus increased.
Thank you, Germans!

I also now know how hard it is to remove sandwichy goo from the keyboard. If this thing starts smelling in the next few days, I'll know why. They say that keyboards are a source of infection, or that more germs are found on keyboards than on doorknobs. This may have been what they were referring to.
It is a source of potent joy that there were no pickles on that sandwich.
Thank you, Germans!

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