ARE WE TALKING ABOUT POTATOES?

There are times when the mature badger (or weasel) comes home to San Francisco from his job in Marin and just wants a nice soothing cup of coffee, and perhaps a foot rub. The latter might be hard to find, as I do not know any foot fetishists I would let into my apartment, but the first ought to be easy, right?
Well, coffee shops are right out; they all have wifi, and are filled with the deafening racket of people yacking on their cell-phones. My favourite hang-outs in Chinatown are closed at this hour because strangely the Cantonese don't swill coffee after dinner.

Home?

My apartment mate is Aspy, and she's got a mouth on her.

[Aspy: this means that she has Asperger Syndrome, also known as "high-functioning autism", a common affliction of geniuses and obesessed types. Basically, it means that there are flaws to her socialization. While I myself am marginally Aspy, she is a case. A dear sweet woman, brilliant and witty, but also capable of going on and on and on and on about a subject, expressing the same set of thoughts in different ways until it has been completely clarified ....... without realizing that after the third or fourth (or fifth) time it had jumped the shark, been beaten to death, had become monotonous, veered into repetition territory, started to pall, ceased to thrill, no longer engaged, acquired a matte finish, made eyes glaze over, become a ringing in the ears, started eating its own tail, paled to white noise ......']

It's that mouth.

How can two such delicious lips spew such problematic stuff?

She's currently reading a murder mystery that involves a severe woman-hating protestant preacher whose wife supports him in his in his clerical vocation. No one's snuffed it yet, but if any one gets whacked, it should be the man of god.

My apartment mate is a bit of a women's libber.

And holy Jesus does she have a mouth.

The minister is a right xxxt.

Like many such.


I used to think it was because she was Cantonese, seeing as when those people talk among themselves almost every other phrase contains a reference to 'amagehai', or a creative variant of burying someone or slaughtering their whole family, but I've since then recognized that even if she weren't Cantonese there would be still be buckets of appalling stuff coming out of her mouth.


She and I used to be a couple (that ended five years ago), and during the years that we were in that kind of relationship it sometimes bothered me that once she had gone off on a tangent it was hard to change the subject back to something more mutually appealing. Honest, sweetheart, I did not need to hear then about your crazy bitch boss and her reprehensible attitude towards whatever the heck it was for forty minutes, just like right now when I would rather not discuss the misogyny of Saint Paul and the early church fathers and how they consistently misused quotes from scripture for their own hate-filled AND nefarious purposes, thus making the Christian Creed the horrible repressive and barbaric instrument of tyranny which it still is today, in all of its multifaceted byzantine ghastliness.

None of which have any connection with body fluids, menstruation, phlegm, and the peculiar symbology of blood in Nicene ritual.

Besides which, talking shxt about Christians is MY job.

I am the guilty white liberal, remember?



Yes, I did have that soothing cup of coffee. It helped me recover from the conversations I had overheard earlier in the day while in Marin. Though I'm still baffled how the subject there changed from the babies born to illegal aliens to the best way to roast potatoes (rubbed with olive oil and rosemary, oven at four hundred degrees, and I am now certain that at least one of those gentlemen is also Aspy), and how any of that related to the size of Hillary's backside (which seems quite immaterial to either the issue with illegals OR kartoffel cuisine).

Someone also brought up problematic wiring. At which point I snapped that that was precisely what illegal aliens were good for, many of them understood electricity far better than high-school graduates OR the self-entitled dildo-heads of Marin.
But the game was on, and none of them reacted.
Someone had scored or hit a homer.
Or else it did not compute.


One of these days, as a refreshing change, I would really like to have a sprightly conversation about nipples. Not with the men in Marin, as their thoughts about that subject are probably pedestrian in the extreme, nor with my ex-girlfriend and present apartment mate, because it would be thin ice as well as hugely uncomfortable.

Nipples are a subject for a good-natured private discussion.
Not a public place, and with no prying ears about.

Nipples are a fascinating subject, I think.
Better than strong coffee after work.
A perfect subject for relaxation.
Nipples are a happy word.


Nipples, coffee, and cake: The perfect way to unwind after work.




I think I'll head out to the Oxxy tonight after all. The surreal twittering of cigar-huffing bozos seems like just the ticket. I've got the day off on Friday, so getting up at eight in the morning won't be a problem.
A bowl full of Virginia flake will do me good.
Perhaps I'll have congee around noon.
With a nice fried dough stick.
And a beverage.


But unfortunately, no nipples.
Can't have everything.

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NIPPLES: NO SPACE REPTILES NEED APPLY

The wonderful thing about the internet is that it has revealed all of our deepest darkest secrets, but done so in an entirely anonymous way.
Everything we want is out there, whatever we fear is explained in excruciating (or juicy) detail.

Sometimes, we discover things that are surprisingly obvious.

Such as the fetishist tendencies of the general public.

A heartfelt & abiding fascination with nipples.

Which frequently brings new readers.

To this nipple-free blog.

No nipples!


Not, you understand, that I lack nipples; I am not a lizard-alien (repeat).
Like other mammalian males, I have also have them vestigially. But the focus of all internet searches for nipples, and I'm reasonably certain of this, are female nipples. Like many humanoid masculine types, I can completely understand the curiosity. The female human nipple is usually attached to "breast(s)", which in the right hands can be objects of beauty.

For a long time I was keenly aware of this, but for the past five years it has been a purely intellectual truth, as there has not been even one female breast in my life, let alone a complete set (or pair) of them.

The distressing absence of nipplosity weighs on me.
This is hardly a concern for my audience.
Such as it is.

An anonymous reader wrote:

"Politics are of more universal interest than, for example, what you put in your mouth on any particular day."


But what if it was nipples? A mouth is the natural place for a nipple.
One singled out, or non-partisan equal treatment for both.

[The anonymous reader who left that comment no doubt wants me to cater to every paranoid conspiracy Tom, Dick, and Harry west of the Pecos river. that ain't gonna happen. Writing about political subjects simply attracted the attention of nuts. Only some of whom agreed with me. Whereas writing about food, nipples, and tobacco, as subjects, appeals to a far broader spectrum, and better expresses my character.]

As I understand it, breasts like attention.
But it is extremely impolite to stare.
Under most circumstances.
Hence curiosity.

Undoubtedly that contradiction is the reason for two searches that brought readers here recently. Consider the search criteria:

"I can almost see your nipples"

And

"Let's look at nipples"


Fascinating. It's scientific inquiry at it's finest.

Nipples are much more interesting than politics or contemporary events, and attract far fewer conspiracy theorists and haters. Plus nipples draw the eye long after the relevance of other subjects has faded.

Kindly note at this point that there are absolutely NO pictures of nipples here. Yes, I know how to upload images, and no, I shall not place photos here that titillate. Horrid pun intended.

But, if you want to read about mammary glands in my words, I can make it easy for you.


COVER THE NIPPLE WITH PASTRY ...

To quote the dirty vicar in a notorious sketch by Monty Python, while fondling her ladyship's bosomy parts: "I like tits!" It is a most regrettable episode, as normally they were such nice Christian lads.

Cleaminded. Wholesome.

Here are five essays that do actually mention nipples. But while boobs are the magnets, the star attractions, if you will, that pull in the suckers, there are no revelations, and the wholesome thrill of "nippletude" is celebrated entirely without recourse to illustration or temptation.

Morphological variation
Written on Wednesday, November 5, 2014.
A blogpost directing the reader to a Wikipedia article about breasts. That article is quoted at length, and both the dome and cone shapes are duly described. It is dryly clinical, except for mention of dim sum, which are wonderful things to eat.

Important details
Written on Wednesday, April 8, 2015.
Results of French research into sag and tensility, comparing the bra-less versus the encapsulated breast. Sportsbras are also mentioned. Different functions demand different materials and construction.
The French are obsessed.

The proper fit
Written on Monday, August 3, 2015.
Responding to a friend who has a peculiar fascination with both breasts and lesbians. I don't know much about the first, and I avoid the latter.
Breasts that belong to lesbians are a hazard.

You cannot see any nipples here
Written on Tuesday, November 16, 2010.
The reason why you can't is because the essay is about lizards and Hello Kitty (and not nipples), as well as why you should never stare.
It might be taken amiss if you did.

To see, or not to see
Written on Friday, July 10, 2009.
This is the essay started it all. Nipples are mentioned in connection with coffee, and terraces in Paris, where coffee as well as nipples are enjoyed by many people. It is actually about language, and how easily mistakes can be made.
The link with nipples is tenuous, and all things considered, minor.


In all honesty, the subject of nipples does play a small role on this blog.
This should not be surprising, as men like breasts.
Well, many men do.

Some of them obsessively.

The word 'nipple' has a rather charming sound, and can be used evocatively. Sort of a calming mantra. Very reassuring. Just quietly repeat the word 'nipple' to yourself when you're alone sometime.
Nipple, nipple, nipple.

See?

The wonderful thing about nipples is that neither their absence nor their possible overabundance affect one's feelings towards them.
They remain items to be treasured fondly.
But I shan't go into details.



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ANATOMICAL MORPHOLOGY, VARIANCES, AND TOLERANCE

Judging by the popular posts recently, my readers are evenly distributed among tobacco fiends, food mavens, and sex-obsessed cretins of either gender. On second thought, that may just be me, seeing as they're only visiting here, but I'm the author of the articles that they found.
My material met their search criteria.


They found dim sum, pipe tobacco, and breasts. As well as a somewhat bitter essay I wrote several years back about how white people are regarded by the Cantonese: The White Devil.

If I had to pick three things I could not live without on a deserted island, it would almost certainly be nice Cantonese tea-house snackies, good leaf to stuff into my pipes, and breasts.
All three of these more or less imply the presence of other people, so it's actually a way of saying that I am a social being. Dim sum is best enjoyed with a group, pipe smoking is a very civilized habit, and breasts can be absolutely wonderful, but ONLY if they're someone else's.
And absolutely not if they're part of a man.

At least, not to me. I am a man.
I do not fondle my own chest.
It just wouldn't feel right.


RIGHT

The other day, underneath the recent breast article, someone suggested that I was "trying to appear non-sexist and sensitive", and failing at that attempt. Which was a bolt out of nowhere, as I consider myself a typical heterosexual breast-obsessed male, which almost by definition means sexist, and when not actually speaking to a person of the other gender, insensitive.

The problem is finding a breast-bearing person to whom one can speak. Most of my exchanges with the female of the species are commercial in nature. For instance: "I should like to have a flaky charsiu roll and some hot milk-tea." "Including tax, that comes to such-and-such an amount." "I am allergic to bananas, these are for my apartment mate."

Dim sum is within easy reach, and a not in-frequent indulgence, albeit alone. Pipe tobacco consumption is on a daily basis, and frequently prompts the comment that someone's father, grand uncle, favourite elderly eccentric, a long-dead college professor, or a relative from a past so distant it might as well be Moses and the Apostles or whatever ALSO smoked a pipe, and I remind the cretins of either gender of him. Gee thanks. I am flattered. You must have loved the cavemen.
Breasts have been entirely a non-occurrence for several years now.
But I will confess that I think about them on a daily basis.
As do most men, whether or not they have any.

Evenso, discussing mammaries with other men is, usually, an exercise in miscommunication. It turns out that everyone has such a vastly different conceptualization of the breast-gestalt that there's just not enough overlap for meaningful exchanges of opinion.

And that's before you even get to the nipples.
Worth an entire blogpost of their own.
[Or mentioning over pastries!]


LEFT

The Wikipedia article about breasts is fascinating.

Quote:
The morphologic variations in the size, shape, volume, tissue density, pectoral locale, and spacing of the breasts determine their natural shape, appearance, and configuration upon the chest of a woman; yet such features do not indicate its mammary-gland composition (fat-to-milk-gland ratio), nor the potential for nursing an infant child.
End quote.

That right there is priceless literature.
So evocative.

Quote:
In the high-breast configuration, the dome-shaped and the cone-shaped breast is affixed to the chest at the base, and the weight is evenly distributed over the base area. In the low-breast configuration, a proportion of the breast weight is supported by the chest, against which rests the lower surface of the breast, thus is formed the inframammary fold (IMF). Because the base is deeply affixed to the chest, the weight of the breast is distributed over a greater area, and so reduces the weight-bearing strain upon the chest, shoulder, and back muscles that bear the weight of the bust.
End quote.

No wonder so many men go into architecture and engineering; profound structural issues that are illustrated in that passage! Weight distribution, spacing and support, angles of projection, buttressing, reinforced concrete, and insulation.


But what really boggles the mind is variance!

Quote:
For about 5% to 10% (of) women, their breasts are severely different, with the left breast being larger in 62% of cases. This is due to the breast proximity to the heart and a greater number of arteries and veins, along with a protective layer of fat surrounding the heart located beneath it. Up to 25% of women experience notable breast asymmetry of at least one cup size difference.
End quote.

I did not know that.

That alone is worth the price of admission.

Further investigation is required.

I love science.



I would love to discuss this over dim sum, or while I am smoking a pipe afterwards. You will find me a sensitive (and sensible) interlocutor.




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NAUGHTY-MINDED UKRAINIANS!

Moments ago I checked my blog stats, and two facts just jumped out. There is NO denying them. They speak. They illustrate, and they make everything clear. ONE: today I had many more visitors from the Ukraine than from anywhere else. Normally U.S. citizens dominate, presently they're in the place normally occupied by the Chinese, who are a distant third. TWO: a blogpost I wrote two years ago in which I was whining pathetically like a loser about the singular... plural... dual(!) absence of nippletude in my life, while simultaneously savagely taunting the internet perverts who found my blog by specifically searching for nipples on the net, is being viewed.

The inescapable conclusion is that Ukranians have discovered nipples.
Maybe they were rather unaware of such things before.
But climate change has opened their eyes.
Expanded their horizons.
At long last.


SOSKI, ROZHEVIYE SOSKI!

Yes, I'm still whining. Sorry. Whatever you are wanting is just not here. In gonzen nicht. I assume that all three hundred plus of you came to this blog today because of your recent discovery, but I refuse to post any pictures or diagrams. This is a family blog, and little children would have nightmares if they actually saw nipples.


Instead, let me describe them.

A nipple is a physical structure located terminally on mammalian lactiferous tissue aggragatata that rather resembles either a finger tip or a lightswitch. You may also think of it as an on-off button, if that is easier to imagine.
It is sensitive. Most human females have two of them, which are larger than the corresponding minor protuberances of the human male.
In general appearance, the entire construction of lactiferous tissues, fatty deposits, derma, and papillae (or papules) on the feminine person may look like the domes of certain mosques and churches, especially in Turkey, Greece, and parts of Russia.
If these things resemble the spires atop the Kremlin (a famous fortress in Muscovy), there is something wrong. They will pendule too much when the afflicted individual ambulates.
For this reason, the French invented a cupping garment to contain as well as restrain, which has the added benefit of supporting the excess weight, and, if of correct size and dimension, preventing chafing.
That last is extremely important.
I mentioned sensitivity.

Some very fine artistic minds have obsessed over these things.
Which is quite understandable, all things considered.



If you weren't searching for nipples here, I welcome you also.
Please let me know what you were really looking for.
And feel free to describe your own parts.
If you feel so inclined.




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PROPORTIONAL DIVIDERS

An early dinner recently became an immensely frustrating experience. No, both the food and the service were more than up to standard, the cutlery and glassware were quite clean and shiny, as was the entire restaurant. And the food was unexceptionally excellent. It is by no means due to anything that the restaurant had a handle on that I was frustrated.
Well, maybe one thing that they can be blamed for.
Their waitress. Her clothes.
Particularly.

And at this point I might as well admit that I am at times a giant hamsaplo.

[The term 'hamsaplo' is explicated here: Aunt Mildred.]


The Vietnamese coffee was perfect, and the bitter melon and chicken over rice was entirely up to snuff. They add a little more fermented black bean to the saucing than other places, but the vegetable was pleasingly crunchy and startling in its intensity. It was a splendid foil, in fact, for the hotsauce of which I plooped a liberal measure on my plate.
Food and drink-wise, it was a completely satisfying experience.
There weren't many other customers there at the time.
One member of the staff remembered me.
And was happy to see me again.
She's learning English.
Which is hard.

[Vietnamese coffee: cà phê sữa đá (咖啡奶冰 'ka-fei naai-bing'). Bittermelon and Chicken over Rice: 涼瓜雞球飯 ('leung gwa gai kau fan'). Bitter melon: 苦瓜 ('fu gwa'), 凉瓜 ('leung gwa'); momocordica charantia. Fermented black beans: 豆豉 ('dau si'); a dry condimental substance remoistend and mashed, it accounts for a dark speckled sauce with a savoury taste in a number of preparations. Hotsauce: Tương Ớt Sriracha (是拉差香甜辣椒醬 'silaja heung-tim laat-chiu jeung'), which is manufactured by Huy Fong Foods Corporation (滙豐食品公司 'wui fung sik-pan gung-si') in the wilds of Southern California (南加州 'naam ga jau'; 野蠻南域 'ye maan naam wik').]

I always like it when Chinese people finally learn English, because my Cantonese is not entirely fluent (understatement) and it just makes it so much easier to communicate when there's a fallback position. English is the default fallback, even if both of us also speak Mandarin.
Cantonese people speaking Mandarin sound nearly as bad as white people (such as myself) using that tongue, and my ability with, lets say, Teochew, Hakka, and Hokkien is virtually non-existent.
Not even mentioning Shanghainese.

[Cantonese: 廣東話 ('gwong jau wa'), 粵語 ('yuet yü'). Mandarin: 官話 ('gwun wa'), 北京話 ('baak keng wa'), 普通話 ('po tong wa'), 國語 ('gwok yü'). Teochew: (潮州話 'chew jau wa'). Hakka: (客家話 'hak gaa wa'). Hokkien: (福建話 'fuk kin wa'), 福州話 ('fuk jau wa'), 廈門話 ('haa mun wa'). Shanghainese: 上海話 ('seung hoi wa').]


Many years ago I was able to converse at a kindergarten level in Hokkien, but every time I opened my mouth, people would look at me funny. Finally someone said "you know, I have an auntie who lives in the hills who still talks like that".
Apparently his auntie was an idiot.

[Idiot: su ku. His auntie is an idiot: "I e lao gu si kung ngaa bo e".]


YAT DEUI LIN-TAU M-KIN JO LAA?

Anyhow, what frustrated me while eating was not the English-learner, who is a very pleasant middle-aged woman and mother of at least two young adults, but the waitress.
Who is considerably younger, and bi-lingual.

I kept wondering where her nipples were.

An attractive young lady, with a lovely smile and lively eyes. Soft-looking hands. Clearly intelligent. And extremely nice though meaty thighs -- they had good proportion, and her legs tapered curvily, and I've always liked what dark semi-opaque panty hose do to the view -- as well as lovely knees (see previously mentioned dark hose).

Circumstantial evidence suggests that she is flat-chested. Or reasonably so. And there's nothing wrong with that, it really works for some people.
Very well, in fact.

Further circumstantial evidence indicated that whatever brassiere she employed had a certain amount of padding, for both support and comfort.
As well as a safeguard against chafing.
Which is also important.

[Nipple: 奶頭 ('naai tau'), 姩頭 ('nin tau').]


If I had had my proportional dividers and a drafting compass on me (and the triangles and French-curves), I probably could have determined the exact location of the nipples, based on distances and degrees, but it still would have been no more than an educated guess. And in all probability she might have objected to the process. There's even a distinct probability that the considerable charm she normally displayed would be replaced by something approaching screaming fury and indignation.
Women are funny that way.

It remained an intellectual problem, but investigating the matter, which is not any of my business, would have encountered obstructions.

I used to be a draughtsman; some things stay with you.


Very nearly started figuring it out with the mound of steamed rice.


I'll definitely go there again, but the next time I might sit facing the other direction.


No, I shan't ask her out. One should never date the waitresses at restaurants that one likes going to. Or even think of it. Such things must inevitably lead to lessened dining options for oneself, and potentially cause further problems for the young ladies in the excercise.
Besides, I don't know anything about her.
Not enough to go by.

She's nice.

And that will have to remain all that I know.


Dining by myself makes me keenly aware of the fact that I have not had a relationship for several years. There is much that I miss about that.
Conversation, holding hands, a smile, and sparkling eyes.
Many things, in fact.

None of which require proportional dividers.


I guess the excess of hotsauce is to compensate.




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IF YOU'VE GOT A MOMENT, AND AREN'T DOING ANYTHING ELSE, THEN PERHAPS

It was a query that occupied my mind all the way through my long luxurious soak, late breakfast at a noodle place, and half hour smoke on the bench in my favourite downtown alley till three thirty. A sentence that the more I though about it the more musical it became.  Quite intriguing.
After reading the news on the internet, my mind again returned to the phrase.
A happy and optimistic utterance.
One with charm and verve.
It speaks to me.


“MAY I SEE YOUR NIPPLES?”


I had discovered this sentence while going through my blog stats. Someone had looked for it, and thus found my blog. Typing in the precise question “may I see your nipples” brought a reader here.
What a fortuitous event! But surely this was only abstract curiosity, given that there cannot be an actual personal response to something posted so anonymously, addressed to no one.

“May I see your nipples?”

Consider the kind of individual who would use that phrase as his search criterion. I say ‘his’, because I am fairly certain that it must be a man. Only men have both the interest and the insane optimism that could even bring it into being.  Fondness for nipples is overwhelmingly a masculine preserve – with the exception of very young teenage girls comparing each other’s recent developments – and focuses almost entirely on the female appurtenances.
Male nipples are just not very interesting, they lack significant appeal.
The man asking about the nipples was expressing something.
I hope for his sake that it wasn't existential loneliness.

What prompts the uttering of such a request?

In addition to a rashly positive attitude?

It is an innocently erotic query. It suggests that there is both a reasonable chance of the desired viewing actually taking place, AND that the person to whom it was addressed is a very nice person.
Why so?
As far as the first postulation is concerned, one clearly would not ask to see the nipples if the response was likely to be unfavourable, which suggests that a certain amount of conversation and getting to know each other preceded the question, as well as kind feelings, and in any case developments agreeable to both parties. And as regards the second condition, why would anyone want to see the nipples of someone who is not nice?
What on earth would be the purpose of that?

I cannot imagine being interested enough in a young lady who was not in other ways praiseworthy that I would ask to see her nipples. It is quite doubtful that they would be worth it, even as an intellectual data set.
Yes, I am fascinated by such things, but if the person herself is not someone I really like, developments might ensue that would be problematic at a later date.
And it might suggest a closeness of soul that was not in fact there.
In a word: risky.


TEEVEE!

Slight sidetrack: If a broadcaster wanted to gain market share at the expense of all other television shows, it would be a jolly good idea to have a bright and chipper female college graduate who was nude from the navel up delivering brilliant commentary about sports while eating pizza.
I’m certain that 99% of American men would tune in faithfully, and watch avidly.
Their primary interest would not matter.
Nipples, pizza, and intelligent sports talk.
Trifecta.

“May I see your nipples?”

If I were to ask to see someone’s nipples, it would be because I genuinely wished to see them. That would only be the case if the person in question was someone whom I would like to know better and for a long time, a person of wit, charm, and personality. Reaching that stage happens after conversation and sharing interests, finding out more about her and what kind of person she is, and spending a lot of time with her.
In essence, a very nice person, and a situation of mutual regard.
I am not a patient man, I won’t spend much time with people who aren’t engaging.
Even among people with whom I get along very well, there are none whose nipples I wish to see.

The request to see the nipples is far better than a plea to smell her hair, or hold her hand. It suggests frank aesthetic appreciation, without the creepiness of other approaches.

But what kind of man fires that plea off into the internet?

What does such a man hope to achieve?

“May I see your nipples?”

Without a specific person in mind, asking for permission to see nipples is rather pointless. And if anyone does spontaneously offer to show her nipples, whether in response to so general and anonymous a request, OR quite at random, it is likely that neither the nipples nor the person are really that rewarding.
For instance, suppose I am walking down the street minding my own business and enjoying my pipe, when out of the blue a woman I have never seen before flashes her breasts at me.
What do I do?
If I turn around and hurry away (a logical reaction), she might chase me down the street waving the objectionable things.
If I comment on the dimension or appearance, that’s an ice-breaker which will lead to a conversation I really do not want any part of, ever.
If I choose to ignore the exhibition, she may vociferate fiercely.
As you can see, nipples at random are a problem.
One must fear anonymous nipples.

“May I see your nipples?”

The only circumstances in which that phrase can be voiced are warmly positive. The request expresses a level of comfort and interest, and one hopes that the other side is equally at ease and curious. Supportive, in any case.
This is not an inquiry mooted during stressful circumstances or unpleasant encounters.
If I ask that question, it will be a sincere sign of keen appreciation.
Positive endorsement, tribute to the person’s niceness.
I cannot think of anything more romantic.

“May I see your nipples?”

Not something to be asked lightly.



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