GIVE HIM A BOX!

At this point I'm convinced that there are loose screws. R the Subcontinental knows very well that the old bastards in the back won't agree with him, ever, on this issue -- they often don't even see eye to eye with him about innocuous subjects like weather or that the sky is up, for instance -- but he keeps bringing up the gender issue. Precisely like them he confuses actual biological gender, gender identity, and sexuality. He brings it all up so often one would suspect that he wants to be called Loretta, and wishes he could have babies.

It's symbolic of his (epic) struggle against reality.

He needs somewhere to gestate them in.

What with not having a womb.

Christian and Sam went outside to get away from the conversation. They were trying to relax. Loretta going off on his tangent made that difficult.
One should not assume from this that many other Indians are so "dense", socially. Or even most Punjabis (guess where R is from), though I have met many whose conversational gambits are like a navy ship laying rhetorical mines in the harbour for the unwary to stumble upon and lose a finger or two.

I believe a whole host of them were marching down Market Street (it being the annual Sikh Day Parade & Remembrance Rally) today. Rambunctious cheerful music, dudes wearing tubans. One or two transgenders. With or without sarees. Ghee drenched laddoos and jalebis. Sarson da saag and makai di roti. Vegetarians stuff. And tandoori murgh.
As well as conversational stormsurges that defied belief.

Many of whom would have asked him "tusim kisa bakwasa raheho?"
What the heck are you ranting on about?
Chup rao!


I like R. He's a decent chap and a liberal, and his heart is in the right place.
But at times he's so far on the spectrum that no buses go there.



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AND HERE IS WHERE IT GETS INTERESTING

The organ in question is roughly similar in dimension and appearance to a plum, an apricot, or a kumquat (金橘 'kam gwat'). It is considerably larger than a loquat (eriobotrya japonica), which used to be called 蘆橘 ('lou gwat), hence the English name, but nowadays is refered to as 枇杷 ('pei paa'), and used in cough medicines such as the famous King To Nin Jiom Pei Pa Koa (京都念慈菴川貝枇杷膏 'king tou nim chi am chuen pui pei paa gou').
You've seen the bottles in chinatown or on your grannie's dresser.

There are also throat lozenges from the same venerable company, the tins of which are recognizable because they have graphics and decoration identical to the boxes that the bottles of cough syrup come in.

The organ is fairly common, many people have it.
It apparently keeps on growing throughout life.
Much like your hair, earlobes, or nose.

John at work expressed curiosity and quirks when it was mentioned, and an old friend would rather go through life blissfully unaware of its existence, so for the benefit of both those gentlemen, here is a helpful diagram.

Some men go through life never knowing what a wondrous thing it is.

Sometimes a small tangerine.

VOCABULARY
Bladder: 膀胱 ('pong gwong')
Klewt: 睾丸 ('gou yuen')
Prostate: 攝護腺 ('sip wu sin')
Rectum: 直腸 ('jik cheung')
Seminal vesicle: 儲精囊 ('cyu jing nong')
Urethra: 尿道 ('niu tou')
Vas deferens: 輸精管 ('syu jing gwun')


Nin Jiom Pei Pa Koa has been found to have noteworthy benefits to people suffering from throat irritation or the common cold. Smokers will find it useful also.


Please do discuss these matters with your personal physician. He or she will welcome your questions. A persistent cough is nothing to sneeze at.

Or perhaps it is.



Important disclaimer: Plums and apricots are among my favourite fruits, I have little actual experience of fresh kumquats or loquats, and I have never needed to discuss any of this with my doctor.


Note: a friend mentioned walnuts as an important comparison. The problem there is that ALL important glands look precisely like walnuts with the right lighting.




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THE APPENDIX

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WOOSH!

Years ago my regular job was at a computer company, and several evenings a week I was the cashier-factotum-diplomat-on-staff-and-general-eye-on-the-business-keeper at an Indian restaurant. Which exposed me to all manner of people and their problems. Punjabis wanting to arrange a marriage feast? We can do that! Midwesterners upset over the spiciness of dishes, including something which did not have any peppers at all? You'll get used to it! Europeans who did not understand why there was a service charge on their bill? Because you folks tip like misers who don't understand that the staff needs to pay rent, that's why. Englishmen angry that we don't acknowledge that the best curry is made in Pigbollocks, Sussex? Oh well.

Also Anglos slumming once a month on Indian or Mexican food to see how those people live and show off their machismo by demanding that we make it as hot as possible they can take it yessirree? It's Indian food this month.

Okay.

That part-time job also exposed me to a device advertised in the local Indian press. The Wally Wash. Attach it to your toilet, and it becomes a bidet. It directs a stream of water upwards for perfect commodial cleanliness. Wake you up too, because it's cold baby.

Not sure what a wally is. But you have one.


One thing that became apparent was that Anglos and Englishmen demanding extra-spicy did not have the digestive systems suited to their machismatic demands. Please gentlemen, also have a bowl or raita on the table, and consider a lassi as the beverage instead of beer. Have chaval ki kheer as dessert. Tomorrow morning have some plain rice, cooked with a pinch of salt, along with a container of Yoplait™ and weak tea. And eat a banana.

[DOUBLE CLICK ON ILLUSTRATION FOR CLARITY]

The diagram above illustrates the area of your anatomy where chili pepper seeds may get stuck, especially if you do not normally consume hot food. You have probably discovered that, huh? Lentils with garlic are also a hazard for your delicate Scotch Irish digestion, and although this is not a factor in Mexican food, you should be aware that Mexicans from some areas often use hotter chilies than Indians. Oh, you've discovered that? Good!

Thais, and Dutchmen who eat Padang food, delight in you blowing yourself out of the water. Singaporeans and most Malays are gentler. Yucatecos, on the other hand, are savage.


The reason why this diagram has Chinese characters and the Cantonese pronunciation for same is because I had an appendix once, and the professionals down at Chinese Hospital ably took care of it. So even though I am a native Dutch speaker, and am quite as glow in the dark white as they come, I tend to think of my guts in Chinese.

Please pin the diagram to your wall as a cautionary illustration, and, especially if you are elderly Anglo Protestant bougie consider yoghurt, yoghurt beverages, and yoghurt dips for your bowel health the next time you eat Indian or Mexican food.
Or if I'm cooking for you.


Yeah, I'm baffled as to why I would be having elderly Anglo Protestant bougies over for dinner. It's an absurd concept. So forget that. I didn't say anything.



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LET'S NOT TALK ABOUT IT

My apartment mate sometimes indulges in strange fascinations. For a while she was obsessively watching earwax videos, after which it was pimples and eruptive lesions or something. Recently after a long speculative discourse on earwax and sebum, she asked whether the minor cyst on my upper back which she knows about from several years ago needed squeezing. Had it grown large enough again that it itched? When I told her that no that wasn't necessary, I had already dealt with it recently, she scoffed. Surely I couldn't reach it! Well, I can. I am more flexible than you think. Hmmph, my squeezing wasn't as good as hers anyway! After many years it isn't as "generous", sorry.

For some people sebaceous cysts are a pain in the ass.
For her, they're "entertainment".

Must be something deep-rooted in her childhood. Which leads me to believe that growing up Chinatown must be in some ways unique and educational. Sensitive white people would be traumatized, the dears. Hardier stock takes things in stride, and relishes the colourful and complicated facets. I've seen, in movies, younger persons pummeling the backs of elderly grannies and uncles to relieve their rheumatism, and in the old days minor therapeutic stuff often needed performing at home, if old Chinese tales are to be believed. Plus there's moxibustion (艾灸), cupping (拔罐), and stew pots with tonic herbs.
And, in a few rare cases, medicinal frogs for soup.
Or a black goat leg in the freezer.


Things were "odd" in the olden days. My own mother, of solid Calvinist ancestry, so spotless European heritage, firmly believed that there was absolutely NO nutritional value to sausage, mushrooms, chilipeppers, and anything cooked by the Dutch. We lived in Holland for several years after moving there when I was two, and she didn't trust the local notions about food. Despite her own father being a doctor, some of her ideas were, um, off.

Some swamps don't need draining.
Exorcism, perhaps.
驅魔。



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IT'S ABOUT TIMING

Per ancient tradition I treat myself to a pack of ciggies after hospital visits and lab work. This was established a few years ago when immediately after leaving Saint Mary's I headed over to Chinese Hospital to pick up Clopidogrel at the pharmacy, then immediately went up the street for a smoke and a cup of coffee. It having been a while then since a puff.

Same year, after five days in the ICU, three praescriptions to fight things growing in my guts because of a vapourized appendix, again, not surprisingly, I needed caffeine and a spot of nicotine. Since then everytime I have tests or lab work it's the same routine.

Especially when there are blood tests at the 抽血室 on the main floor. Fast for ten to twelve hours beforehand, no coffee, no tea, and, very capably, not even the sensation of a pin prick. Over and done with in less than a minute, sixteen hours after my last cup of coffee.
Even more amazing, I acted fully human. I'm proud of myself.
See, I can do it.

KEY TERMS:
斷層 (CT) 掃描 ('tuen chang "si-ti" sou miu'; tomography)
甲狀腺 ('gaap jong sin'; thyroid)
甲狀腺掃描 ('gaap jong sin sou miu'; thyroid scan)
甲狀腺超聲 ('gaap jong sin chiu seng'; thyroid ultrasound)
驗血 ('yim huet'; blood tests)


The most interesting thing was the sputtering hispanic gentleman having a tantrum in radiology because he had to wait. Everyone had to wait. There had been a medical emergency which of course had taken precedence, and everyone else was patient, having roped cows at this rodeo before, and accordingly budgeted time. Which they probably don't do in the Spanish speaking part of the world where everything goes like clockwork. He believed that they weren't treating him fairly because he wasn't a Chinese speaker.

The staff at SF Chinese Hospital are saints. Patient, forbearing, tolerant, and uniformly efficient, friendly, and helpful. This is NO exxageration. They even tolerate my horrid Cantonese pronunciation and misreading of Chinese texts.

About twenty minutes after presenting my papers, at an opportune moment I approached the desk and asked how much longer, explaining that if there was enough time to go upstairs to have blood drawn I'd like to do that, not having had any coffee yet. The next thing I knew they were doing my thyroid ultrasound an hour an a half early, escorted me across the hall for the tomography of the lungs and breathing aparatus which as a smoker is a yearly thing, and I was gaily hopping into the elevator to go up to the blood lab. I was out of there well before I expected, with plenty of time for coffee and then lunch at a chachanteng.

Visits to the hospital are always enjoyable, and today was exceptional in that regard. It's probably my Aspergers, which appreciates to-the-pointness, and informative content in conversation. As well as interesting things to do and see.



Garlic butter prawns, rice, milk tea. After lunch smoke (pipe, red Virginia). Transit card and chocolate. A packet of rice stick noodles, a jar of Koon Yick Wah Kee curry powder, and a box of rickshaw brand tea. Egg tart and milk tea. Another pipe.
Tourists succesfully dodged.



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