A BIT MUCH

Dinner tonight: Roast duck. Charsiu pork. Mustard leaf, sauteed with garlic. Dau miu, also sauteed. Followed by Saint Honoré cake. So yes, it was a very good evening. Having coffee right now, but I will need to step out for a last pipe of the day. Later.

Also a discussion about a crazy-ass entertainer and his mind-meld with our president. Which was one of the most bizarre events this week, possibly ever, and kept Donald Trump from going to Florida and flinging rolls of kitchen paper at desperate drenched people.

In this year's Racial Draft, it certain now that the White Delegation will pick Kanye West. We have no choice. The blacks don't want him, and the Republicans think he's a god.


There have been several pungent comments about his recent performance.
By black people who insist he does not represent them.
Much like many of us white people assert that Donald "stinking tax cheeto" Trump is not what we are either.
And Chinese Americans think Elaine Chao is a Kentucky opportunist.


Consensus about Kanye: give this guy some medication.


We did not have wine with dinner, because my apartment mate is Chinese American and cannot drink, and I'm white and do not wish it to seem that my ancestral culture's well-know weakness for massive amounts of hooch (have you SEEN some of those Brueghel or Jan Steen paintings?!?) has influenced me, so our conversation was cold sober.

[The Drunken Couple, by Jan Steen, at the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam]

So okay, I'm not really Dutch, as my family has been here since the days of Nieuw Amsterdam. But that weakness, you know. That also explains why so many of us American Netherlanders over the centuries have become Evangelicals (heretics) or Mormons (raving damned heathens).

My apartment mate's kin include Presbyterians and Southern Baptists (her daddy was Chinese from Texas), so she isn't quite Chinese either.

Not too far from the basket people.
It's a small island.


But lord knows, Trump and his crazy-ass friends don't represent us.
If anything represents us, it is the Gateau Saint Honoré.
Fluffy, wonderful, and multi-textured.


Absolutely nobody in the Trump administration deserves Saint Honoré cake. But none of them can spell it either, nor would they be able to identify it if it came up and bit them in their spongy part.



Kanye is a space alien.



Florida needs tissue.



Good night.




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