Wednesday, July 20, 2022


Not quite perfect pipe smoking weather but close. It's foggy at the top of Nob Hill, and although the folks at the bakery predict warmer weather tomorrow, it doesn't look like it. Almost autumnal. Of course elsewhere in California it's boiling hot, over one hundred degrees. People are wilting. Here in San Francisco its fifty three degrees at present.

And we don't want you to visit.

Question: how can you tell that someone is a kwailo?
Answer: Doesn't wear a mask in crowded places.

[Hasn't ever considered that people in operating rooms wear masks solely to prevent breathing infections onto the patient, NOT to avoid catching cooties from the comatose opened up person on the table. They're idiots.]

See, the average Kwailo doesn't believe in science, common sense, or any consideration for other people. That's all for pansies or communists. The American West was not conquered by being civilized, no sir!

If we saw someone wearing a mask back in those days, we'd shoot them.
Doctors and medical personell were scarce back then.
Tea-time found me at a familiar haunt, having a snack while watching a woman with pretty lips tucking into some chow mein with her aunt and uncle. Over at another table an elderly mother and her obedient son were eating late lunch. A solitary diner near the side door ordered beef and brocolli over rice.

They have good pastries and excellent cooked dishes. For some reason most non-Chinese don't come in. Which suits me fine. I'm quite okay avoiding most white people these days; there are far too many of them at work, as well as on the bus, and so many of them refuse to wear masks. Which, given that the pandemic is not over (nearly fifteen hundred covid deaths in the US in the last seven days), is both arrogant and stupid.
They're getting sick to prove a point.

The pandemic has given me the freedom to be far less tolerant of my fellow human beings, of which there are too many. It's going to be hard readapting to normalcy once this is over.

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