Sunday, January 31, 2016


Sometimes my ears play tricks on me. But at other times I'm absolutely certain I heard right. When traveling on the bus -- a favourite activity, given that I enjoy marveling at my fellow humans -- strange things are often to be heard, especially with people nowadays more likely to publicly engage in phone conversations than they were before cellular communication.

Nice blonde teenager talking to someone:

"Gigolos are necessary; Eskimos live in them!"

Yes dear, I'm sure you're right.

She looked sort of cute and sexy, but not particularly intelligent. Which meant that she did not look like someone one would like to know.
Intelligence is an absolute prerequisite.

And intelligence is often manifested by speech.

By that standard, none of the actual candidates in last Thursday's Republican debate are date material. Or even close.

Neither is Donald Trump, who refused to attend and instead had a debate all by himself elsewhere. He lost, in case you were wondering.
His opponent was just so much more forceful.

One thing that marked both "debates" in Des Moines was the unmitigated cynicism evinced by all politicians present. That, and their universal hatred of "foreigners", are hallmarks of this campaign.

Their definition of "foreigners" should frighten almost everyone. It is tailored to exclude anyone who isn't dyed in the wool tea-party trailer trash. And evidently it is okay for Joe Shmoe to rough up "foreigners" occasionally, just so that they know their place. This crop of Repu-didates is the most blinkered clatch of hatemongers in a long time.

As are their supporters.

Not very long ago we didn't want any Irish, Italians, Chinese, Jews, or Mexicans to enter the country.

Parts of the Republican Party evidently still feel that letting any of those people in was a huge mistake.

Although they make exceptions for Cruz, Fiorina, and Rubio.
Who are our kind of foreign.

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The question is "why?" Apparently the two teams in the fracas are the Seattle Seamonkeys and the Denver Johns, not even the local team ..... which is based in Santa Clara anyhow. So for no discernible reason, the city is throwing its bra into the air for a bunch of freeloaders from Washington and Colorado, plus all the drugdealers and pickpockets from Oakland and the rest of the East Bay.

Total cost? About four million.
Profit? Errrm, not so much. None directly to the city, although saloonkeepers will rake in a fortune.
Inconvenience to residents? Between "some" and "enormous".

You do know it's just a silly game, right?

Such excitement is bad for your digestion.

If any sports fans run riot, just shoot them.

[EDITORIAL UPDATE AS OF 1:11 PM ON WEDNESDAY FEBRUARY 3rd.: It turns out that it isn't the Seattlers fighting the pot-huffing butchweasels, but some team from North or South Carolina I have never heard of. My bad.]

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Saturday, January 30, 2016


The porkchops over rice were tasty, but the waitress, though properly dressed, had me wondering what she would look like wearing a bathing suit. Perhaps one piece. This did not distract from my dinner, but added to it. There are times when my inner dirty old man has a field day.
My inner dirty old man and I afterwards went out into the rain to smoke a pipe, because it's part of my regular afternoon jaunt.
People do not wear swimsuits in the rain.
Not in this climate.

Unfortunately my inner dirty old man got rained on.
Not sure, but I think it's the weather.
A downer for the inner geezer.

It is good that the inner dude does not express himself. He's not allowed to. It would almost certainly be embarrassing if he did, because he ain't exactly as socially polished and adept as the outer man (which is me).
He would say things that might get us in trouble.

One of the people on the bus had the exact opposite thing going on his life. Ten blocks of crazy puffed-up white guy reading off the street signs and telling people to sit down now or get up. By the time he himself finally disembarked, I wished that someone would slap him. Other than muttering "shut up you tiresome bore" under my breath, however, I didn't react.

Being quiet and poker-faced has advantages.
Even my inner Neanderthaler knows this.
In that regard we think alike.

Still, she would've looked dynamite in a bathing suit. A sleek one piece black number. Someone should tell her so.

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Friday, January 29, 2016


In the years before the computer age few of us could have imagined how it would change our lives. I myself for instance had no idea that one day kitten pictures, pornography, and real-time food photos would be at my fingertips, all a mere click away.

I am especially grateful for the kitten pictures.
Technological progress is beautiful.

The food photography not so much. Seeing as I have an extensive collection of cookbooks. Food is serious business. As for the pornography, I miss the liquor store on Broadway in its previous iteration, when it was fondly referred to locally as the 'DBS'.


Beer, bourbon, cigarettes, cigars, candy bars, chewing gum, and serious smut. One would perhaps go there for a sixpack and a pack of cowboy cigarettes, then get distracted by the multitude of dusty paperbacks with straightforward promises of nastiness and filth. Magic.

[Yes, indeed there was also photographic fornicativia. The usual magazines, and unusual one-ofs. A limited colour palette, shot through vaseline-coated camera lenses.
The great American bald spread-eagle.]

Titles like 'Hardhat Chicken', 'Strawperry Pie', 'Saigon War Orphan's Torment', 'Spanking Miss Daisy', or 'Strapping Young Lads'.
Hours of reading fun, no illustrations.

Eventually all of these paperback novels will be uploaded to the internet so that scholars can research our past peccadilloes and write in-depth analyses of our primitive perversions. We will occasionally re-visit the dusty nastiness now passed, and our browsers will keep track of our searches, much like Amazon and Youtube, then suggest likely other things we might be interested in.

Cookie-functionality is built in. No real cookies.

"Honey, why does your computer want me to visit "Chicken Pot Pie" and "The Leather Underground""?

"Nothing, dear, just market research I did for work."

You will understand, of course, that the ONLY reason I ever went into the DBS was to purchase a Kitkat bar. Because I have always been very clean-minded, and just not interested in lovely poinky nipples, perky bottoms, or curvy thighs. But the fact that one could find out all about such things seemed a great and delicious freedom, and plain brown wrappers consequently suggested mind-expanding reading.
It was a kinder, gentler age.

In the present day, the old DBS is a boring place, and has fresh fruit available late at night instead of licentious literary exploration.

I still have a trench-coat, but I never wear it any more.
Modern twenty-somethings are cleanminded.
They lack the adventurous spirit.

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Thursday, January 28, 2016


It turns out that San Francisco is not only hosting the Superbowl, but also allowing the building of something called "Superbowl City". Which is very disturbing. Native and long-time San Franciscans are famously ambivalent about visitors. We stand to be inundated by out-of-towners during the nearly two weeks leading up to this ridiculous sporting event.

It could not be worse if Donald Trump came to town.

According to the informative internet site for Superbowl City, it (SB City) will be "Loud, proud, inclusive and authentic, just like the Bay Area itself".

Why are we modelling ourselves on the rest of this region?!?

Lets start with a few significant examples.

Berkeley: this is the hellhole that invented arrogant know-it-all disapproval of everything, as well as belligerent and self-righteous demonstrations against stuff they don't understand, or in favour of violent scum of which for some deranged reason they approve. Other than some unbearable hipsters and ultra-left dickheads, mostly in the Mission Street area (and their supervisorial representatives), we are not like that.

Oakland: a high crime zone with one hell of a sh*tty attitude problem, where no one civilized lives. There is no there there, but there are plenty of vegans and murderers there. We are not like that.

South San Francisco and Daly City: suburbia squared, no culture, no reason to visit, and except for shopping malls with a large number of Asian restaurants, nothing to eat. We are not like that.

Richmond: possibly the arse hole of the known universe. Explorers are still mapping its tundric wastes. We are not like that.

Fremont, San Leandro, Hayward, San Pablo, Piedmont, Redwood City, and other places: Thank heavens we are not like that.

That stretch of lumpy dung behind the East Bay Hills:
Bleah. We are not like that.

San Jose: it smells bad and eats too much. We are not like that.

And, last and deservedly least, Marin and Sonoma Counties: hot tubs, vegans, whiny poseurs, and potheads. We are not like that.

Other than the tattooed freaks, trust fund trash, and internet yuppies, who have immigrated here in the last few years, we're mostly working class meat eaters, and those weed-snarfing losers on Market Street are the worthless retard-offspring of Midwesterners and other cis-Sierans.

San Francisco: come for the steak and whiskey.
Light up a cigar while you're here.
Piss off a douchebag.

Please don't smoke marijuana or wear leisure suits during your visit; that's what Colorado is for.

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Whenever even remotely possible, I point out that we Dutch bought the entire continent for twenty two dollars worth of tchotchkes, we own it now, and everybody else should kindly leave. That usually sends the conversation off into the twilight zone.

My first Dutch ancestor came over in 1630. An Englishman from whom I am also descended arrived before that. Unfortunately several million other people in the United States can claim as much.
I probably wouldn't like them.

Due to this accidental family history, I am related to several American presidents. Regrettably I am also probably related to a large number of the Republicans embarrassing themselves in pursuit of that office.

And possibly Charlie Manson.

I am sorry. Those are the branches of the family we do not associate with. You know, the syphilitic inbred distant cousins, whose behaviour and mores are beyond questionable. The cornfed folk.
Please don't lump me with them.

I barely even eat potatoes.

We all have relatives we regret. The great thing about being an American is that many of those people are in Deventer, Toishan, or Gujarat.


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Wednesday, January 27, 2016


It is with great amusement that I read an article on a Dutch newspaper site about gratuities given to safari staff in Africa by customers. Apparently the Americans are preferred, as we are friendly, generous, and pleasant to deal with, whereas the Dutch are not particularly loved, because we are remarkably cheap pricks, and rather snivellingly unpleasant.
Yes, "we", because Dutchness is my other "we".

Naturally the headline writer focused on the allegation of miserliness rather than any other objectionable characteristic. If he had been Italian, it would have been about the unpleasantness, and if English, about dissatisfaction. But he was Dutch, and noticed the money thing immediately, to the exclusion of everything else.

['The Dutch tip least']

Italians are not punctual and don't listen to instructions. Brits are more likely to voice dissatisfaction though they arrive neatly dressed and listen attentively, Germans are always on time, Brazilians are rather like the Italians, and Frenchmen are similar to the Dutch.

"Maar liefst 85% van de onderzochte touroperators uit Afrika beoordeelt Amerikaanse safaritoeristen als plezierig of heel plezierig. Ze geven aan dat Amerikanen vriendelijk zijn, veel humor hebben en veel fooi geven."

[SOURCE: gierige rotzakken.]

All the comments underneath the article are in Dutch, and very many stalwartly defend penny pinching. Besides sneering at the Americans.
The Dutch are princes among men, and Americans are rather stupid or something.

Some commenters discuss fellow-Europeans in the most unflattering terms, and a number of people actually agree that Americans are generous and very pleasant.

Having worked for fifteen plus years part-time in a restaurant, and knowing far too many people in the hospitality industry here in San Francisco, I must now make a few stereotypic observations.
As you would expect me to do.

The Dutch: penny-pinching know-it-all tightwads. You should ALWAYS add the gratuity to their guest-check.
The English: they damned well invented whatever-it-is and complain an awful lot, besides drinking too much. Least likely to be satisfied. Add the gratuity.
The French: not quite as cheap as the Dutch, not as punctual as the Germans, nor as irritating as the Italians. Add the gratuity.
The Germans: hyper-correct and humorless. Add the gratuity.
The Irish: cheerful, nearly unintelligible, and often witty. Expect a long discussion about religion, politics, Sartre, and perhaps peatmoss, if you add the gratuity.
The Italians: rude, and a pain in the derriere, almost precisely the same as the Brazilians, but with a beautiful language. Add the gratuity.
The Russians: unpleasant and boorish, except for the oppressively cheerful ones.
The Spanish: more unintelligible than the Irish, far less ignorant than the Dutch. Sometimes disturbingly similar to Englishmen. Add the gratuity.
The Swedes: Educated. Weird.

The less said about Scotsmen, Australians, New Zealanders, and other people preoccupied with sheep, the better.

15% -- 18%

When we had new menus printed, the phrase "management reserves the right to charge a fifteen percent gratuity on parties of six or more" was changed to "management may add an eighteen percent gratuity".

It wasn't just because of Europeans. The Indians, Pakistanis, and Oaklanders also were responsible for that.

Lag'bag se Bharatiyon aur sarwa Pakistaniyon kanjus-e bhain-ch*tiyon hain, aur Oakland-log sooar hain.

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I will not do laundry today. Because I don't feel like it. I washed my underwear recently and have enough April fresh stuff to last another week. If it rains then, I will stink. By eleven in the morning the air is grey anyhow, and no one in Marin will notice. That's four days a week.

The persistent odour of tobacco smoke malforms all senses.

And I am a stubborn old grumpus.

Deal with it.

"His stubborness is like a thick layer of stiffened crisco and sugar icing over the unappetizing Safeway sheet cake that is his Asperger syndrome."

I am more socially adept than some. My subjects easily change, and the thought-processes do not go into automatic pilot. Bomber pilot.
Though last night I did, as usual, drone on and on and on.

I am not your father, I do not have all the answers.

But I do have some mighty fine theories.

In a few of which I am vested.

Unless informed otherwise, assume neurotic retention.

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Tuesday, January 26, 2016


Ah, I saw her again! The delightful miss with the pale blue backpack whom I mentioned nearly two weeks ago. This time her hair was not in a pony tail. She and what I presume is a relative were heading up hill on foot.
They passed me while I was waiting at the bus stop.

I had left later than usual, as I had taken a long bath, and then read more than originally intended. After four o'clock I realized that I needed to acquire some mirliton, cured pork belly (臘肉 'laap yiuk') and new wash cloths, as well as have a tea time snackipoo in Chinatown.

[Sechium edule: Mirliton, Christophene, or Chayote, is called 佛手瓜 ('fo sou gwaa'; Buddha's hand melon) and 合掌瓜 ('hap jeung gwaa'; "together palms melon") in Cantonese, though I believe some people also call it 吸水瓜 ('gap sui gwaa'; "suck water melon"). It is a crisp cucurbit, easy to cook, very delicious, and great with porky substances.
It has a lovely green hue, and is often used in soups.]

She and her companion made a steady clip uphill. They were already halfway beyond Hyde Street when the bus passed them.

Short, expressive and intelligent face, spectacles.
I am quite a dirty old man at heart.
She is very cute.

This blogger would certainly not take it amiss, by any standard, if she decided that a spry middle-aged pipe-smoking Dutchman was precisely perfect, and spontaneously jumped my bones. I would be tickled pink.

Unfortunately, in this world, young women are not likely to do that.

Instead, she'd probably smile sweetly, and tell me "go hump a camel, you perverted old goat!" She has an utterly charming smile, by the way.
Then she'd clout me with her pale blue back pack.

Tea at a later hour than usual consisted of smoked pork dice in a fluffy bread twist, with a hot cup of gong sik naai cha, while listening to two Hokkien gentlemen discussing something I could not possibly grasp.
I looked at the food photos covering the wall, and decided that one of these days I will go there for lunch. Among other things they do Hong Kong spaghetti, club sandwiches, and macaroni.
Besides lovely baked goods.

I do not wish to be called a perverted old goat.

I'm not that old.

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The grand jury in Harris County, Texas, recently discovered sufficient reason to indict David Daleiden and Sandra Merritt for various heinous acts committed in their Christian zeal to shut down abortion nationwide. The two fraudsters appear to have tampered with government records.
As well as broken several other laws.

"After a lengthy and thorough investigation by the Harris County District Attorney's Office, the Texas Rangers, and the Houston Police Department, a Harris County grand jury took no action Monday against Planned Parenthood Gulf Coast"

-------Harris County District Attorney's office statement

We always knew that Republicans were lying bastards.

"The people behind this fraud lied and broke the law in order to spread malicious lies about Planned Parenthood to advance their extreme anti-abortion political agenda "

"As the dust settles and the truth comes out, it’s become totally clear that the only people who engaged in wrongdoing are the criminals behind this fraud"

-------Planned Parenthood statement

Calling it 'fraud' is too kind.


The sleazy Christian scum that runs the great state of Texas on behalf of the Republican Party, however, is outraged that their agenda did not get a free pass.

They blared indignantly in response.

"Nothing about today’s announcement in Harris County impacts the state’s ongoing investigation -- The State of Texas will continue to protect life, and I will continue to support legislation prohibiting the sale or transfer of fetal tissue"

-------Governor Abbott

"The horrific nature of these videos demand scrutiny and investigation. The Senate Committee on Health and Human Services will continue to examine the practices of abortion providers and whether state law adequately protects the sanctity of life -- I will never be deterred from standing up to fight to protect the unborn"

-------Lt. gov. Dan Patrick

I realize that in a democracy, all opinions are supposed to be equally valid. But we have not been a real democracy since the Reagan years, and the deep south is far more retrograde than present day Uganda, Argentina under the generals, or Vladimir Putin's Russia.

The only reason not to tamper with America's gun laws is to shoot these slimy lizards if they ever gain total political control.

Please note: This post was written in the heat of the moment, to deliberately insult Republicans, Christians, and fans of Fox.

Screw all of them.

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The government of Pakistan is determined to end their country's addiction to smut. Which seems cruel and perverse, seeing as Pakistan leads the world for internet searches that would result in naked pictures of white women. And brown women. And strangely coloured women from cartoons and anime, or any other naked, near-naked, semi-naked, partially naked, and even somewhat clothed or veiled women, doing things which of which their mothers would disapprove, some of which are physically impossible.

A Pakistani watching pornography at four in the morning is a happy man. There is probably nothing else in this world that has that effect on him.
Other than Multani Chaamp, Paya Nihari, Tarayal Patata (small wedges of potato fried in ghee with spices), Mutton Biriani, Sohan Halwa, Faluda, and a hot glass of chai.

Of course, after eating all that, you're probably going to take a very long nap, and wake up at four in the morning totally uninterested in food of any kind. What do you do?

Have another cup chai, and turn on your computer. Where your friends Hamid, Abdullah, Said, and Bilal, are all discussing naughty bits in diverse chatrooms. And posting links.

It is time for sundry degeneracies!

This is something with which this blogger can sympathize.

I too am a single man, though vastly more socially polished than the average Pakistani male, and likewise often fascinated by the opposite gender. Because I live in San Francisco, my love life is also entirely hypothetical.

But, though I do have a smutty mind, my internet searches are largely food-related. Multani Chaamp, Paya Nihari, Tarayal Patata, Mutton Biriani, Sohan Halwa, Faluda .....

Pakistani food, Bengali food, Panjabi food, that sumptuous biriani from the Pathan place behind the Red Mosque (they use LOTS of ghee), mithai, halwa .....

On behalf of my regrettably Pakistani fellow man, I would urge the Pakistani government in Islamabad to cease their vile crusade against pornography.
It is the only thing keeping Pakistanis from killing each other.

Naked titties promote sanity.


Per cup:

One heaping TBS black tea leaves.
Eight green cardamom pods.
A slice of ginger.
A small fragment of cinnamon.
Half Tsp. fennel seeds.
One heaping TBS sugar.
One cup water.
Half cup milk.

Crack open the green cardamom pods so that the seeds are exposed. Bring water to a boil, add the cardamom and other spices, and simmer five minutes to release the flavour into the water. Add the tea leaves, simmer at just below boiling for a couple minutes, then add sugar & milk and simmer for another five minutes. Pour the liquid through a strainer (chai ki jhalani) into a clean porcelain cup, and have a laddoo on the side.

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Monday, January 25, 2016


My friend the bookseller and I often discuss affairs of the world. When not despairing over the horrendous vocalizing at the karaoke bar where we go once a week, because we've known the owner for far too long, way back before they installed the karaoke machine and still had the crazy pothead babbling about electric guitars and Adolph Hitler.

And, knowing that he is all ears, I am certain that he is fascinated by the strange and wonderful mooing attempts at communication offered by America's favourite undercover space lizard, Sarah Palin.

That being her stump for Trump speech in Ames, Iowa -- a town with a curse -- several days ago.

So for his benefit, as well as to irritate all lovers of grammar and the English language, here is the full text of her incoherent verbal vomit storm, courtesy of BuzzFeed.

Thank you BuzzFeed, for the dirty work.

Begin cite:

“Thank you so much. It’s so great to be here in Iowa. We’re here just thawing out. Todd and I and a couple of our friends here from Alaska, lending our support for the next president of our great United States of America, Donald J. Trump.

“Mr. Trump, you’re right, look back there in the press box. Heads are spinning, media heads are spinning. This is going to be so much fun.

“Are you ready to make America great again? We all have a part in this. We all have a responsibility. Looking around at all of you, you hardworking Iowa families. You farm families, and teachers, and teamsters, and cops, and cooks. You rockin’ rollers. And holy rollers! All of you who work so hard. You full-time moms. You with the hands that rock the cradle. You all make the world go round, and now our cause is one.

“When asked why I would jump into a primary — kind of stirring it up a little bit maybe — and choose one over some friends who are running and I’ve endorsed a couple others in their races before they decided to run for president, I was told left and right, “You are going to get so clobbered in the press. You are just going to get beat up, and chewed up, and spit out.” You know, I’m thinking, And? You know, like you guys haven’t tried to do that every day since that night in ‘08, when I was on stage nominated for VP, and I got to say, “yeah, I’ll go, send me, you betcha. I’ll serve.”

And, like you all, I’m still standing. So those of us who’ve kind of gone through the wringer as Mr. Trump has, makes me respect you even more. That you’re here, and you’re putting your efforts, you’re putting reputations, you’re putting relationships on the line to do the right thing for this country. Because you are ready to make America great again. “Well, I am here because like you I know that it is now or never. I’m in it to win it because we believe in America, and we love our freedom.

And if you love your freedom, thank a vet. Thank a vet, and know that the United States military deserves a commander-in-chief that our country passionately, and will never apologize for this country. A new commander-in-chief who will never leave our men behind. A new commander-in-chief, one who will never lie to the families of the fallen. I’m in it, because just last week, we’re watching our sailors suffer and be humiliated on a world stage at the hands of Iranian captors in violation of international law, because a weak-kneed, capitulator-in-chief has decided America will lead from behind. And he, who would negotiate deals, kind of with the skills of a community organizer maybe organizing a neighborhood tea, well, he deciding that, “No, America would apologize as part of the deal,” as the enemy sends a message to the rest of the world that they capture and we kowtow, and we apologize, and then, we bend over and say, “Thank you, enemy.” We are ready for a change. We are ready and our troops deserve the best. A new commander-in-chief whose track record of success has proven he is the master at the art of the deal. He is one who would know to negotiate.

“Only one candidate’s record of success proves he is the master of the art of the deal. He is beholden to no one but we the people, how refreshing. He is perfectly positioned to let you make America great again. Are you ready for that, Iowa?

“No more pussy footin’ around! Our troops deserve the best, you deserve the best!

“He is from the private sector, not a politician, can I get a “Hallelujah!” Where, in the private sector, you actually have to balance budgets in order to prioritize, to keep the main thing, the main thing, and he knows the main thing: a president is to keep us safe economically and militarily. He knows the main thing, and he knows how to lead the charge. So troops, hang in there, because help’s on the way because he, better than anyone, isn’t he known for being able to command, fire! Are you ready for a commander-in-chief, you ready for a commander-in-chief who will let our warriors do their job and go kick ISIS ass? Ready for someone who will secure our borders, to secure our jobs, and to secure our homes? Ready to make America great again, are you ready to stump for Trump? I’m here to support the next president of the United States, Donald Trump.

“Now, eight years ago, I warned that Obama’s promised fundamental transformation of America. That is was going to take more from you, and leave America weaker on the world stage. And that we would soon be unrecognizable. Well, it’s the one promise that Obama kept. But he didn’t do it alone, and this is important to remember, especially those of you, like me, a member of the GOP, this is what we have to remember, in this very contested, competitive, great primary race.

“Trump’s candidacy, it has exposed not just that tragic ramifications of that betrayal of the transformation of our country, but too, he has exposed the complicity on both sides of the aisle that has enabled it, okay? Well, Trump, what he’s been able to do, which is really ticking people off, which I’m glad about, he’s going rogue left and right, man, that’s why he’s doing so well. He’s been able to tear the veil off this idea of the system. The way that the system really works, and please hear me on this, I want you guys to understand more and more how the system, the establishment, works, and has gotten us into the troubles that we are in in America. The permanent political class has been doing the bidding of their campaign donor class, and that’s why you see that the borders are kept open. For them, for their cheap labor that they want to come in. That’s why they’ve been bloating budgets. It’s for crony capitalists to be able suck off of them. It’s why we see these lousy trade deals that gut our industry for special interests elsewhere. We need someone new, who has the power, and is in the position to bust up that establishment to make things great again. It’s part of the problem.

“His candidacy, which is a movement, it’s a force, it’s a strategy. It proves, as long as the politicos, they get to keep their titles, and their perks, and their media ratings, they don’t really care who wins elections. Believe me on this. And the proof of this? Look what’s happening today. Our own GOP machine, the establishment, they who would assemble the political landscape, they’re attacking their own frontrunner. Now would the Left ever, would the DNC ever come after their frontrunner and her supporters? No because they don’t eat their own, they don’t self-destruct. But for the GOP establishment to be coming after Donald Trump’s supporters even, with accusations that are so false. They are so busted, the way that this thing works.

“We, you, a diverse, dynamic, needed support base that they would attack. And now, some of them even whispering, they’re ready to throw in for Hillary over Trump because they can’t afford to see the status quo go, otherwise, they won’t be able to be slurping off the gravy train that’s been feeding them all these years. They don’t want that to end. “Well, and then, funny, ha ha, not funny, but now, what they’re doing is wailing, “well, Trump and his, uh, uh, uh, Trumpeters, they’re not conservative enough.” Oh my goodness gracious.

What the heck would the establishment know about conservatism? Tell me, is this conservative? GOP majorities handing over a blank check to fund Obamacare and Planned Parenthood and illegal immigration that competes for your jobs, and turning safety nets into hammocks, and all these new Democrat voters that are going to be coming on over border as we keep the borders open, and bequeathing our children millions in new debt, and refusing to fight back for our solvency, and our sovereignty, even though that’s why we elected them and sent them as a majority to DC. No! If they’re not willing to do that, then how are they to tell us that we’re not conservative enough in order to be able to make these changes in America that we know need to be…Now they’re concerned about this ideological purity? Give me a break! Who are they to say that? Oh tell somebody like, Phyllis Schlafly, she is the Republican, conservative movement icon and hero and a Trump supporter. Tell her she’s not conservative. How ‘bout the rest of us? Right wingin’, bitter clingin’, proud clingers of our guns, our god, and our religions, and our Constitution. Tell us that we’re not red enough? Yeah, coming from the establishment. Right.

“Well, he being the only one who’s been willing, he’s got the guts to wear the issues that need to be spoken about and debate on his sleeve, where the rest of some of these establishment candidates, they just wanted to duck and hide. They didn’t want to talk about these issue until he brought ‘em up. In fact, they’ve been wearing a, this, political correctness kind of like a suicide vest. And enough is enough. These issues that Donald Trump talks about had to be debated. And he brought them to the forefront. And that’s why we are where we are today with good discussion. A good, heated, and very competitive primary is where we are. And now though, to be lectured that, “Well, you guys are all sounding kind of angry,” is what we’re hearing from the establishment. Doggone right we’re angry! Justifiably so! Yes! You know, they stomp on our neck, and then they tell us, “Just chill, okay just relax.” Well, look, we are mad, and we’ve been had. They need to get used to it.

“This election is more than just your basic ABCs, anybody but Clinton. It’s more than that this go-around. When we’re talking about a nation without borders. When we’re talking about bankruptcies in our federal government. Debt that our children and our grandchildren, they’ll never be able to pay off. When we’re talking about no more Reaganesque power that comes from strength. Power through strength. Well, then, we’re talking about our very existence, so no, we’re not going to chill. In fact it’s time to drill, baby, drill down, and hold these folks accountable. And we need to stop the self-sabotage and elect new, and independent, a candidate who represents that and represents America first, finally. Pro-Constitution, common-sense solutions, that he brings to the table. Yes the status quo has got to go. Otherwise we’re just going to get more of the same, and with their failed agenda, it can’t be salvaged. It must be savaged. And Donald Trump is the right one to do that.

“Are you ready for new? And are you ready for the leader who will let you make America great again? It’s gonna take a whole team. It’s gonna take a whole team. Fighters, all of us, in the private sector. Fighters in the House and the Senate. So, our friends, who are fighters in the House and the Senate today, they need to stay there and help out. They can help our new leader in the positions that they are in.

“Let me say something really positive about one of those individuals: Rand Paul. I’m going to tell you about that libertarian streak in him that is healthy, because he knows, you only go to war if you’re determined to win the war! And you quit footin’ the bill for these nations who are oil-rich, we’re paying for some of their squirmishes that have been going on for centuries. Where they’re fightin’ each other and yellin’ “Allah Akbar” calling Jihad on each other’s heads for ever and ever. Like I’ve said before, let them duke it out and let Allah sort it out. We’ll fight for American interests, and as Donald Trump has said, other nations where we have been footin’ the bill, but we haven’t prioritized our own domestic budgets well enough to be able to afford what we’re doing overseas. Things are gonna change under President Trump.

“So it can be an unbeatable team with fighters there in the House and the Senate. Yeah, our leader is a little bit different. He’s a multi-billionaire. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But, it’s amazing, he is not elitist at all. Oh, I just hope you guys get to know him more and more as a person, and a family man. What he’s been able to accomplish, with his um, it’s kind of this quiet generosity. Yeah, maybe his largess kind of, I don’t know, some would say gets in the way of that quiet generosity, and, uh, his compassion, but if you know him as a person and you’ll get to know him more and more, you’ll have even more respect. Not just for his record of success, and the good intentions for America, but who he is as a person. He’s not an elitist. And yes, as a multi-billionaire, we still root him on, because he roots us on.

And he has, he’s spent his life with the workin’ man. And he tells us Joe six packs, he said, “You know, I’ve worked very, very hard. And I’ve succeeded. Hugely I’ve succeeded,” he says. And he says, “I want you to succeed too.” And that is refreshing, because he, as he builds things, he builds big things, things that touch the sky, big infrastructure that puts other people to work. He has spent his life looking up and respecting the hard-hats and the steel-toed boots and the work ethic that you all have within you.

He, being an optimist, passionate about equal-opportunity to work. The self-made success of his, you know that he doesn’t get his power, his high, off of OPM, other people’s money, like a lot of dopes in Washington do. They’re addicted to OPM, where they take other people’s money, and then their high is getting to redistribute it, right? And then they get to be really popular people when they get to give out your hard money. Well, he doesn’t do that. His power, his passion, is the fabric of America. And it’s woven by work ethic and dreams and drive and faith in the Almighty, what a combination.

“Are you ready to share in that again, Iowa? Because that’s what’s going to let you make America great again. He’s going to be able to empower you to look out for one-another again instead of relying on bankrupt government to supposedly be looking out for you. No, and I think you’re ready for that. And Iowa, I believe too that you’re ready to see that our vets are treated better than illegal immigrants are treated in this country. And you’re ready for the tax reform he talks about to open up main street again. And you’re ready to stop the race-baiting and the division based on color and zip code, to unify around the right issues. The issues important to me, or I wouldn’t be endorsing him. Pro-life, pro-Second Amendment, strict constitutionality. Those things that are unifying values and their time-tested truths involved. These are unifying values from big cities to tiny towns, from big mountain states and the Big Apple, to the big, beautiful heartland that’s in between.

“Now, finally friends, I want you to try to picture this, it’s a nice thing to picture. Exactly one year from tomorrow, former President Barack Obama. He packs up the teleprompters and the selfie-sticks, and the Greek columns, and all that hopey, changey stuff and he heads on back to Chicago, where I’m sure he can find some community there to organize again. There, he can finally look up, President Obama will be able to look up, and there, over his head, he’ll be able to see that shining, towering, Trump tower. Yes, Barack, he built that, and that says a lot. Iowa, you say a lot, being here tonight, supporting the right man who will allow you to make America great again. God bless you! God bless the United States of America and our next president of the United States, Donald J. Trump!”

End cite.

[Watch her performance here: Here's the um, text, uh yeah, and video.]


This is not literature, a great oratrice she ain't. But it sure is wonderful, especially because if you ignore the shrill bite to her voice, she sounds remarkably like The Dude after a great big doobie.
And we all love The Dude, man.
Not The Eagles.

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Because I usually relax in the evening with a cup or two of strong coffee, sleep does not come early. Last night, being wide-staring awake at somewhere past midnight (though quite relaxed), I ended up in the far reaches of youtube researching miss Matsushima Utako (松島詩子), about whom apparently zipdiddly is known in English. One of her famous songs was 'Dancer of Shanghai' (上海の踊り子 'shan hai no odoriko'), a song written in the very late thirties.

That far reach of youtube, where wild animals and lusus naturae abound, is where I found the video below.




霧の夜を 月の夜を
踊るランタン 踊る上海
夢を見るよな 踊り子の
黒い瞳が ぬれている ぬれている

街の灯も 窓の灯も
みんな呼んでる 歌の上海
リラの花さえ 開く夜を
何を泣くやら 夜の雨 夜の雨

あの歌も この歌も
遠い想い出 夢の上海
君の形見の 日の丸の
紅のあかさは 燃えるのに 燃えるのに

Kiri no yoru o tsukinoyo o, odoru rantan odoru Shanhai, yume o miru yo na odoriko no, kuroi hitomi ga, nurete iru nurete iru.
Machinohi mo mado no akari mo, min'na yon deru, uta no Shanhai, riranohana sae hiraku yoru o, nani o naku yara, yoru no ame yoru no ame.
Ano uta mo kono uta mo, tōi omoide yume no Shanhai, kun no katami no hinomaru no, kurenai no aka-sa wa, moeru no ni moeru noni.

Here is a very slapdash translation:

Night, fog and moonlight
Dancing, swaying lanterns in Shanghai
One dancer, oh, as if inside a dream
Dark limpid eyes, tears.

Lights, lights and bright windows
Where everyone's song is of Shanghai
A night of a myriad opened blossoms
Lamenting a night of rain.

That song, and also this song
Distant memories, dreams of Shanghai
Of a ninefold sunray flag, of your keepsake
Crimson, the fieriest of burning red.

One could read a note of pre-war propaganda into the song, as indeed others have. But the war was long over before I was born, and I prefer to appreciate it for what it is, namely a very lovely musical number.
Having a vocaloid sing it is a nice space-age touch.

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Sunday, January 24, 2016


Actually, I don't have a clue who won today's game, nor am I at all curious.
The only reason why it's even an issue to bring up is that I was far too close to a lounge filled with cigar-huffing pickleheads screaming like a lynch mob during the last three hours before closing.
I may have been the only sane and sober individual in the place when we finally chased all of them out into the cold. They got the abbreviated version of my well-known lecture on why I do not want to spend an extra forty minutes in the ghastly self-absorbed wastelands of Marin county because one of the retrogrades will have overstayed his welcome for five seconds,
and I shall have missed the bus back to civilization.
Very narrow window of opportunity.
Get the hell out.

Sudden noises disconcert me. Yowling middle-aged men too.

On the other hand, four or five pipe-smokers came in during the day, and acted very civilized altogether.

Subjects discussed: Carotenoids (flavour and aroma constituent of stone fruits, wild grasses, and Virginia tobacco), terpeneols (pine resins, Scotch whisky, lapsang souchong tea, and Latakia), norambreinolide (an organic compound present in ambergris, various spices, sage, salvia types, cedar, Havana and Turkish tobacco), amberlike resins ("labdanoid terpenes") and sugar esters (Turkish tobacco, again), anaerobic fermentation yielding methyl acetate, isoamyl alcohol, limonene, and several other compounds of a chocolate-like or fruit-like aroma (Perique tobacco, from Louisiana).

The paragraph above in short: tobaccos have various flavours and aromas in common with certain fruits, evergreen trees and shrubs, numerous spices, plus coffee, tea, vanilla, and chocolate.

Key considerata: primary fermentation, secondary fermentation, aging. These are processes that improve tobacco, and give it character.

Related thereto, many things benefit from maturation: wines, cheeses, tobaccos, and pipe smokers.

Young ladies (defined as human females from the age of twenty years on up, though not to far) benefit from the proximity of things that have matured: wines, cheeses, tobaccos, and pipe smokers.

Unfortunately, because matured tobaccos are often associated with cigars, the presence of yowling middle-aged stogie-sucking yobbos is likely, if not necessarily implicit.

Pipe smokers do NOT benefit from shrieking football-obsessed old grunts with cheroots, and keenly resent their behaviour scaring away the young ladies as well as most other civilized folk.

We are deeply concerned about the young ladies.

Maturity: it's the fountain of youth.


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There are two videos that I have tried to watch all the way through, but I cannot. They give me the willies and a sense of nausea, as well as the shudders and the shits. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

One is that cute video of a bunch of pre-teen girlies doing a song and dance for Donald Trump in Florida, which proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that parts of the deep south are filled with very sick pervs, and the other one is Sarah Palin's endorsement of Der Trump, delivering a speechy-weechie which staggers all for incomprehensibility.

Social conversation in her home must be surreal.
The dear lady has no brain.

What does this mean: "right wing and bitter clinging, proud clingers of our guns our god our religions, and our constitution, no more pussyfooting around can I get a hallelujah?"

I think that's Alaskan rightwinger speak for "whoopee!" as you gaily strip off your cocktail dress and the zesty polka-dotted underwear and dance upon the dinner table.

Either that, or she's desperately trying to say "read my lips like a suicide vest, kow tow and apologize, and then funny ha ha".

She's not intelligent enough to be a psychopath.


The reason why I'm somewhat opposed to restricting our right to bear arms is because there are too many people like Donald Trump and Sarah Palin in this country. Huge toxic wastelands of rightwing crazy, pretty much all of Texas, Louisiana, and Alaska, plus large lakes of sludge in Florida, Idaho, Utah, and Arizona.
Interpret that as you will.

"Right wing and bitter clinging, proud clingers of our guns our god our religions, and our constitution, no more pussyfooting around can I get a hallelujah?"

It's not that I fear or distrust Republicans (which I do), but that they are clearly unstable and high on America, mom, the flag, and apple pie.
There's something in that apple pie.

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Saturday, January 23, 2016


It was quite unfair, and I'm very sorry. Her Cantonese and mine were at different levels, and as I was the customer, it put her at a disadvantage.
And I had no business speaking Cantonese in the first place.
But I did. In such environments, I always do.
It gets me what I want.


Now, you need to know that 涼 ('leung'; "cool") and 兩 ('leung'; two of something) sound nearly the same. And that bittermelon is commonly called 苦瓜 ('fu gwaa') in Chinatown Cantonese. Which is why one restaurant changed the names of several of their dishes. They call it 苦瓜 ('fu gwaa'), their customers also call it 苦瓜, and almost no one except menu writers and Dutchmen call it 涼瓜 ('leung gwaa').

Elsewhere, it still shows up as 涼瓜.

I had finished my shopping, but had not actually eaten anything yet, and it was dinner time. So, being curious as to whether they also did baked Portuguese chicken rice -- which I wasn't planning to order, but I just wanted to check -- I went in and avidly studied the menu.

What I ordered was 涼瓜斑球飯,同埋一杯港式奶茶,唔該。Bitter melon and fish chunks over rice, and a cup of Hong Kong style milk-tea, if you please ('leung gwaa pan kau faan, tong mai yat pui gong sik naai chaa, m-koi')

Oh boy, dinner was going to be good!

I waited with eager anticipation.

Oh boy oh boy oh boy!

What I got was TWO plates of fish and some kind of vegetable over rice. It turns out that she heard 兩 when I said 涼 and was too flustered to ask for clarification but instead nervously construed amiss.
I have no idea what she took 瓜 to mean.

No bitter melon.

I explained that 'leung gwaa' meant the same as foo gwar. Fu gwaa. Yat yeung ge, hai m-hai. On their menu it says leung gwaa, but that means fu gwaa. And there's only one of me, not two. She looked crestfallen.
I told her I would eat one of the servings anyhow.
But just one.

[Leung: 涼 = three dots water (氵) and the false phonetic element 京 。
Cool, cold. Because that is its effect on the body. 苦 = Fu; bitter.]

The owners are mainlanders, I believe, and she is probably a locally born relative given a part-time job to earn money for college. Just guessing.
But she speaks English entirely without accent.

I'm fairly certain that she would have to pay for her mistake.

I left a more than seventy percent tip.

If I go there a few more times during her shifts, it will even out, and she'll end up ahead. Next time I'll have to bring a small notepad, however, because she may never have heard of 焗豬扒飯 ('guk chü paa faan') before. It's very Hong Kong, and not at all Chinatown.
I'll have to write it down.

The benefit of this plan for me is that I like the place, I've always liked cha-chanteng. Plus each table has a bottle of Sriracha.
And the young lady is nice to look at.
That adds sweetness.

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Friday, January 22, 2016


This blogger finds it hard to have much sympathy for people in the path of the monster snow storm. We don't get snow in the civilized world, you see, and the closest we come is wet stuff falling in the Sierras, where inbred people live. The inbred part of the continent starts there and continues all the way to Nova Scotia. Although there are distinct pockets of such in the Richmond and Sunset. Regrettably.

Snow; it's what you get for being dillwads.

You have seasons, we don't.

Sorry. My natural San Franciscan sneering snootiness surfaced for a second. I am a very superficial man. Snow never falls on Nob Hill.

My first thought on reading about people stocking up to survive the looming snowpacolypse was that they should buy lots of frozen pizza, because of the high-fat content, and comfort quotient. Then I realized that if the power went out, the frozen pizza would only be useful for insulation, or building pizza forts; they would have to order it from a late-night pizzeria instead. Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night shall stay cheese pie drivers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.
Call up the National Guard to ensure the delivery chains get through!
It's a matter of national survival; they must have pizza.

But what kind ? New York? Chicago? Detroit or New Haven?
Perhaps Hawaiian, saints preserve us.
Spam and pineapple.

Certainly not Neapolitan or Sicilian, because Americans eat more pizza than the rest of the world combined, and Italy is a frightfully small part of the rest of the world, approximately the size of Oakland, or maybe somewhat larger. And in any case, Italy is where you go to soak up art, culture, and sunshine, things that Oakland is not known for.

After pondering the question, the answer was clear.

Swedish Pizza.

It turns out than on a per-person basis, Swedes eat more pizza than even Americans. Italian know-how ("competenza") combined with Swedish suicidal tendencies provides over one hundred types of pizza, of which the most popular are: Africana (chicken, banana, pineapple, onion, and curry powder), Bolognese, calzskrove, calzone con prosciutto, capricciosa, ciao-ciao, crosta con fagioli fermentanti, fango, frutti di mare, Grecco, Hawaiian, kebabpizza, marghareta, marinara, Mexicana, Napolitana, murgh tikka, New Orleans, pansegale con aringhe rancido, ricola, quattro formaggi, quattro stagioni, quattro cose non commestibili, vegetariana.

All, of course, served with mayonnaise.
As well as kupous salata.

Swedes thrive in a gloomy miserable climate, where it's crikey cold and dark, with bally fish to eat. Mayonnaise is essential.

Americans can learn much from the Swedes.
They're a lot like Icelanders.

We like the Sweders.


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One of my readers has taken me to task for so conspicuously mentioning "small bra and pantie ensembles", such as likely would be worn by young Polynesian lesbians, middle-aged men, or G-d forbid his little sister. Apparently I was too detailed.

I did not know that his little sister had so much in common with grumpy middle-aged men, and he should firmly get her out of his filthy mind.

Either that or send me a photo.
I'll be the judge.

"If not for liberals and their crazy sexual urges there wouldn't be babies born out of wedlock. Abstinence needs to be the law of the land."

---Allegedly said by Sarah Palin

Listen, cowboy, if it weren't for crazy sexual urges, humankind would die out, the world would be an empty place, you wouldn't have a little sister, and Bristol Palin would not have become a mommy.

And no one would have invented underwear of any type. Ever.

I shall now happily continue to contemplate the matter of small lace bra and pantie sets, because it is very comforting to have them in your head. Lord knows I haven't actually seen anything like that in very many years, other than the tasteless crap sold at Victoria's secret, or the heffalump-sized scanty things at Macy's whenever I buy my ex comfy cotton pajamas with little animals on them for Christmas.

All small women deserve comfy cotton pajamas; that's just how it is.

I have never bought ANYONE black lace bra and panties.

There's nothing crazy sexual about it, by the way.

It's purely a matter of aesthetics.

Clean and wholesome.


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Thursday, January 21, 2016


Enervating day today, off work tomorrow, then three more days in a row.
It's a good schedule, as, usually, it lets me restore pieces of briar all day Sundays. And if you think about it, a place where some misguided people think I'm next to god, while others entrust their beloved companions into my tender hands -- and I can smoke while there -- is in many ways a peach.

[Please note that by "beloved companions", briar pipes for use with pipe tobacco are meant. Not dogs, not wives, not house-arrest tracking devices.]

Some people abuse the living heck out of their pipes.

Some pipes just need a little clean-up.

Few are irredeemable.


Remarkably, it is never a woman who fouls up a pipe. I guess women just take better care of things. Women pipe smokers would undoubtedly respect how I treat my pipes; clean black stems, carbon layer kept reasonably thin (no thicker than it should be), draft free of tarry build-up, and the rims fairly spotless and unbanged. A clean pipe performs better. Women instinctively understand about keeping your tools clean.

Many men seldom take so much pride in their equipment.

A pipe is something you should grasp fondly, not at arms length. Ideally it will smell good, and be something you stick in your mouth with pleasure.

Filling a bowl properly is also an art at which women are, often, better. The tobacco should be packed gently, not pounded in. The flame should be even and controlled, not casual and slapdash. Your attention should be focused. A gentle touch is better than mere vigour.

One would think that this was obvious.

The person who taught me more about pipes and tobacco than anyone else was a small brilliant Chinese woman. She took great pride in doing everything well, and she had an excellent eye.

Before I met her, my pipes stank.

Hers were always clean.



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There are very good reasons why you should never put ideas into the head of someone with Asperger's syndrome. The primary one being that once the idea is in there it might take a lot of effort to get it out again. Yesterday some dingo told me that I should liberate the child within.

"Come again?"

"Set it free. Let the child within you express itself!"

"What child within? I haven't eaten anything bad."

"You have a child within, don't deny it. We all do. And you should embrace that child, let it express itself.
You will be a happier person!

"Listen, sweetheart, IF there is a child inside of me, let's say in some dark compartment of my soul, it's probably a fifteen-year old lesbian, possibly Polynesian, like Gauguin's mistress, but not into smelly old Frenchmen, who has a distinct thing for small black lace bra and pantie ensembles. So please let's NOT let that out, my friends aren't ready for it. I'm sure that they would rather see me fully clothed, unless they're perverts. And while we're at it, isn't it a lot safer to assume that there is no child within, not even a tiny one, but just an adult? An adult who is frikkin' desperate to NOT discuss internal infants, karma, disturbing auras, mother earth and green love, or similar tofu-brained new-age crap? Otherwise we end up with chaos.
In addition to the cute teenage lesbian wearing lovely underwear, I've got an angry sumo-wrestler inside, as well as a squid-loving bottlenose dolphin with a very bad attitude towards redwood trees and spotted owls!
Both of them also wearing lacy black bra and panties."

That conversation went nowhere fast.

After she huffed off, I couldn't get the lovely black lace bra and pantie set out of my mind. Mentally I just turned it over and over, re-designing parts, deciding whether or not it needed underwire, and how broad the lace border should be, and if it needed gusseting and elegant stitching, or would look better as a more severe and spartan combo. Comfort is, of course, a major consideration, as well as accentuation of curves.

I blame the surviving hippie-mentality for this. Without those patchouli-reeking pervs, I would never have had this mental blip.

I do not have a child within.

I've got nice underwear.

It's still there.

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