I miss the old neighborhood. I live on the other side of the hill, so it's within easy walking distance. But it is different now.
After the Loma Prieta Earthquake - when the Embarcadero Freeway was torn down - weekend shoppers stopped coming in to purchase their Italian or Chinese essentials, preferring more easily accessed neighborhoods instead.
But there has also been a change in population flux. Up until the handover of Hong Kong, a steady stream of immigrants injected liveliness into the place at the same time as more acclimatized previous arrivals moved out to the avenues. That process has slowed down considerably. There are fewer new arrivals, and they aren't as well-funded. There are no sweatshops anymore either, and the economy has slowed down. The vibrant optimism has been replaced by ..... stasis.
Grant Avenue used to have more shops and restaurants catering to locals, and the side streets had any number of interesting enterprises. Now most of the restaurants cater to tasteless tourists, and many wholesalers of non-wasp merchandise have disappeared.
There was a rice-dealer on one of the alleys that sold crops from different regions and various qualities in fifty and hundred pound bags. Their business was spread out over three shop-fronts, with high ceilings, wooden floors. Old generation, long gone.
The dealers in American ginseng off Kearney street recently closed after more than twenty years. Another large shop that traded in both American and Korean ginseng as well as tonic herbs on Grant disappeared years ago - moved to a warehouse in Oakland.
Both stores had been fixtures, but their customers no longer came into the district.
The store with large steamers, woks, strainers, and similar equipment, is now a 'neighborhood beautification project art space'. Meaning, of course, that the once flourishing business which once graced that site has ceased to exist.
The stationers just down from the Buddha where I shopped on a regular basis also closed a few years ago. Notebooks, greeting cards, red envelopes.
The owners retired and there was no one who wanted to continue the business.
ONE STREET UP, MORE LIVELY
I avoid Grant Avenue - far too many slow-moving people speaking German or French, too few places where actual residents might find necessities.
Dry goods, canned foods, condiments, live seafood, and above all fresh fresh fresh vegetables are all on Stockton between Clay and Vallejo. It's bustling and alive up there.
Remarkably, German and French are not spoken, and even Mid-Western and Southern accents are rare.
I don't think such people actually eat.
There are several places on Stockton where you can buy coffee and a pastry and observe the world from behind your crumbs. Very nice.
Maybe a flaky charsiu pocket, or a slice roll-cake with dow sa filling? And perhaps a little egg tart.
Lienyong pao or custard pie also can.
If you see me, come on over and introduce yourself. I'll cover what you're having, just sit a while and keep me company. We don't have to talk.
Just a few moments together as the world imperceptibly changes, hmmm?
Perhaps we could do dinner at the 嶺南小館 sometime - they'll still be around a while.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
BAD BEAST, COME BACK HERE WITH MY COOKIES!
When I still worked at the Indian restaurant, I would always have my tea tray on the counter to my left.
A porcelain pot, two or three canisters, plus a cup and saucer.
Life is SO much more civilized with a spot of tea, don't you think?
Especially when the exhaust from the beer refrigerator is blowing a constant stream of hundred degree heat into your legs - you are sweating bucketloads (especially on hot days), and there are interesting rashes developing right around your kneecaps.
Your socks are soggy from the excess perspiration.
Yes, a spot of tea (or several pots full) definitely add to one's quality of life at that point.
A few years later at the computer company I also had my tea tray. A few of us would regularly have a hot cup in mid-afternoon. It made living with moronic management so much more 'manageable'. This was, you understand, after the Southern Californians had bought the company and were running it into the ground. They didn't know what they were doing, and they didn't understand tea.
That last item betrayed a grievous moral failing on their part.
When I was a teenager, I had a tea tray on my desk. I'm not sure whether it improved my homework in the evenings, but I sure had a fine time studying. I was probably wired to the eyebrows for much of that time.
Being wired to the eyebrows, as the Mochachino generation has since discovered, add's to one's quality of life. Chain-brand Mochachino, however, demonstrates a grievous moral failing on their part.
They should really drink tea.
Spent most of the eighties wired to the eyebrows, too.
No moral failings to report during those years.
Unfortunately.
AUTUMNAL RENAISSANCE
This weekend, I am intent on purchasing some fine porcelain teacups and saucers. It is time to revive a tradition, namely the quiet evening with a book, a nice cup of tea, and cookies.
Savage Kitten and I still drink tea, of course. That never stopped. But the idea of simply relaxing with a book, a cuppa, and a cookie or two, fell by the wayside over the years.
[Savage Kitten and I live together, even though we're no longer a couple. We lead our own lives, but we both enjoy hot beverages and quiet times with our books at the end of day. Why not add a note of comfort?]
I shall buy THREE different cups and saucers.
One for Savage Kitten.
One for me.
And the third one as an optimistic forward looking statement. Still haven't found the individual who will be drinking out of it yet, but I'm sure someone will turn up when the time is right.
She'll be a person who enjoys a quiet evening with a good book, a cup of tea, and cookies.
She may have to fight the monkey and the headsheep for the cookies, so just in case, there WILL be plenty of extra cookies.
Please don't allow those two creatures to snag any of your tea - they're already wired to the eyebrows. They're always like that. They never grew up.
And they have moral failings.
By the way, I have quite a number of trays and teapots, so different kinds of tea are possible.
English or Chinese black, semi-fermented, a nice white chicken crown from Chekiang province, some greens ......
Your own cup. Your own pot. And your own cookies.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
A porcelain pot, two or three canisters, plus a cup and saucer.
Life is SO much more civilized with a spot of tea, don't you think?
Especially when the exhaust from the beer refrigerator is blowing a constant stream of hundred degree heat into your legs - you are sweating bucketloads (especially on hot days), and there are interesting rashes developing right around your kneecaps.
Your socks are soggy from the excess perspiration.
Yes, a spot of tea (or several pots full) definitely add to one's quality of life at that point.
A few years later at the computer company I also had my tea tray. A few of us would regularly have a hot cup in mid-afternoon. It made living with moronic management so much more 'manageable'. This was, you understand, after the Southern Californians had bought the company and were running it into the ground. They didn't know what they were doing, and they didn't understand tea.
That last item betrayed a grievous moral failing on their part.
When I was a teenager, I had a tea tray on my desk. I'm not sure whether it improved my homework in the evenings, but I sure had a fine time studying. I was probably wired to the eyebrows for much of that time.
Being wired to the eyebrows, as the Mochachino generation has since discovered, add's to one's quality of life. Chain-brand Mochachino, however, demonstrates a grievous moral failing on their part.
They should really drink tea.
Spent most of the eighties wired to the eyebrows, too.
No moral failings to report during those years.
Unfortunately.
AUTUMNAL RENAISSANCE
This weekend, I am intent on purchasing some fine porcelain teacups and saucers. It is time to revive a tradition, namely the quiet evening with a book, a nice cup of tea, and cookies.
Savage Kitten and I still drink tea, of course. That never stopped. But the idea of simply relaxing with a book, a cuppa, and a cookie or two, fell by the wayside over the years.
[Savage Kitten and I live together, even though we're no longer a couple. We lead our own lives, but we both enjoy hot beverages and quiet times with our books at the end of day. Why not add a note of comfort?]
I shall buy THREE different cups and saucers.
One for Savage Kitten.
One for me.
And the third one as an optimistic forward looking statement. Still haven't found the individual who will be drinking out of it yet, but I'm sure someone will turn up when the time is right.
She'll be a person who enjoys a quiet evening with a good book, a cup of tea, and cookies.
She may have to fight the monkey and the headsheep for the cookies, so just in case, there WILL be plenty of extra cookies.
Please don't allow those two creatures to snag any of your tea - they're already wired to the eyebrows. They're always like that. They never grew up.
And they have moral failings.
By the way, I have quite a number of trays and teapots, so different kinds of tea are possible.
English or Chinese black, semi-fermented, a nice white chicken crown from Chekiang province, some greens ......
Your own cup. Your own pot. And your own cookies.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
RACHEL CORRIE
As a refreshing change from the usual claptrap that the cottonwools habitually feed the public, I urge you to read a post on Jameel's blog:
http://muqata.blogspot.com/2010/11/st-pancakes-propaganda-trial.html
You will find the facts and opinions expressed there a welcome relief from the Berkeleyite point of view.
Do please feel free to do your own thinking, if you are capable of it.
http://muqata.blogspot.com/2010/11/st-pancakes-propaganda-trial.html
You will find the facts and opinions expressed there a welcome relief from the Berkeleyite point of view.
Do please feel free to do your own thinking, if you are capable of it.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
I KNOW BENG!
Recently I took several surveys connected with Facebook. The results are entirely unsurprising.
I am the Frenchman from Holy Grail who insults the silly English kuh-niggets ("now go a way or I will taunt you a secohnd-uh tame!").
Cool. I've always wanted to be John Cleese.
Pursuant that survey, I also took the "how Chinese are you" survey, followed in rapid succession by "how Singaporean are you" and "how Beng are you".
Zero percent. One hundred percent. Seventy percent.
Not Beng enough to pass. Darn. Even with a mastery of Singlish.
Apparently I wear Bermudas with a normal tee-shirt.
I look Beng plenty lah, but I'm just an average shlub from Ang Mo Kio.
Buwaya with bad choice clothing only is it, ah den?
But bwei kiah e, I know Ah Beng.
阿明!
Ah Beng all day hangs out at kopitiam. He's the one with the purple streaks in his hair, the cigarette sloping out of his mouth, and one flipflop foot up on the plastic chair. Possibly he has a digit in a nostril at this very moment - no one watching.
Trying impress maybe that nice guhhhh who think he a goondu.
A goondu with chao kiak.
Him not so kiong.
Betul.
Ah Beng can't dance. Soal ini, he does. So does his young sister Ah Lian, she with the mile-high platform shoes, world-is-your-gynecologist miniskirt, and exceptionally foul tongue.
Linguistically, Ah Beng and Ah Lian are a mess. Can't tjakap decent Hokkien, Cantonese, OR Mandarin, let alone English.
What they speak is an unholy mixture all of the above, loud and braggarty, with exclamations and unprintables mixed in liberally.
As far as appearance, they aim for that rowdy Hong Kong juvie gangster goo wak chai look, mixed with Japanese style, and ..... Elvis. Really. Elvis.
A scrawny East-Asian pimp Elvis.
Elvis wearing a pink synthetic bomber jacket with the words "Royal Peach Regiment" embroidered on the back.
Yes, their clothing taste is blur chee sotong, sia.
Chan mow pan-mei.
Favourite foods: Es kachang, char kwee tiau, roti John, rudjak, and char hai mee. Also gasak MacDonalds and pizza. Everything with sambal.
Well, except es kachang and chendol, perhaps, but I wouldn't put it past them.
Other than Jalan Bugis, they also hang out at Jubilee in AMK (红毛橋).
I know Ah Beng. But I am not Ah Beng.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
I am the Frenchman from Holy Grail who insults the silly English kuh-niggets ("now go a way or I will taunt you a secohnd-uh tame!").
Cool. I've always wanted to be John Cleese.
Pursuant that survey, I also took the "how Chinese are you" survey, followed in rapid succession by "how Singaporean are you" and "how Beng are you".
Zero percent. One hundred percent. Seventy percent.
Not Beng enough to pass. Darn. Even with a mastery of Singlish.
Apparently I wear Bermudas with a normal tee-shirt.
I look Beng plenty lah, but I'm just an average shlub from Ang Mo Kio.
Buwaya with bad choice clothing only is it, ah den?
But bwei kiah e, I know Ah Beng.
阿明!
Ah Beng all day hangs out at kopitiam. He's the one with the purple streaks in his hair, the cigarette sloping out of his mouth, and one flipflop foot up on the plastic chair. Possibly he has a digit in a nostril at this very moment - no one watching.
Trying impress maybe that nice guhhhh who think he a goondu.
A goondu with chao kiak.
Him not so kiong.
Betul.
Ah Beng can't dance. Soal ini, he does. So does his young sister Ah Lian, she with the mile-high platform shoes, world-is-your-gynecologist miniskirt, and exceptionally foul tongue.
Linguistically, Ah Beng and Ah Lian are a mess. Can't tjakap decent Hokkien, Cantonese, OR Mandarin, let alone English.
What they speak is an unholy mixture all of the above, loud and braggarty, with exclamations and unprintables mixed in liberally.
As far as appearance, they aim for that rowdy Hong Kong juvie gangster goo wak chai look, mixed with Japanese style, and ..... Elvis. Really. Elvis.
A scrawny East-Asian pimp Elvis.
Elvis wearing a pink synthetic bomber jacket with the words "Royal Peach Regiment" embroidered on the back.
Yes, their clothing taste is blur chee sotong, sia.
Chan mow pan-mei.
Favourite foods: Es kachang, char kwee tiau, roti John, rudjak, and char hai mee. Also gasak MacDonalds and pizza. Everything with sambal.
Well, except es kachang and chendol, perhaps, but I wouldn't put it past them.
Other than Jalan Bugis, they also hang out at Jubilee in AMK (红毛橋).
I know Ah Beng. But I am not Ah Beng.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
CHINESE SLIMY THINGS
There are a number of edible substances much beloved by the Chinese and by nearly no one else. It's a textural thing - most waspy Wasps aren't much into toothsome qualities, as proven by their very Anglo appreciation for such inedible substances as boiled-to-death vegetables and overcooked chicken. The pleasantly mucilaginous mouth-feel of some foods has unfortunate associations for waspy Wasps.
A bit sad, really. There is so much good to eat that y'all really ought to explore.
But on the other hand, if you did do so, there would be far less to go around. So don't
Unless you're reading this.
In which case go ape.
燕窩 BIRDS NEST - YIN WO
Bird's Nest is used in both savoury soups and sweet dessert-type soups, and is considered excellent for women. It is thought to be tonifying, especially to the delicate feminine tissues, and also good for the skin. Consequently cheaper grades of bird's nest show up in a number of patent preparations, usually in unimpressive quantity at extraordinary price. Like many such gelatinous substances there are substitutes which are just as healthy that don't cost nearly as much.
When used in cooking, the taste is very mild and unobjectionable. When employed as part of an ostentation-feast, more flavoursome ingredients are often added. The result is quite pleasant.
Soaking time before use: less than an hour. It absorbs water enormously.
海參 SEA CUCUMBER - HOI SAAM
This is the dried body of a Holothuroid slug. For any number of reasons this is believed to be good for male virility and potency - you can probably figure out why, and we need not go there. Culinarily its main appeal is the capacity to soak up flavour from the other ingredients used in the dish. Texturally it is not at all unloveable either. Like with bird's nest, such ingredients as Chinese ham, wood ears, black mushroom, and chicken stock are used to oomph it up.
In my opinion the result is far better than bird's nest. May have something to do with my regard for my Johnson, but I doubt it.
Soaking time before use: Several days. After the first boil-up and simmering, it is rinsed and cleaned thoroughly, then resoaked in several changes of water to rehydrate.
魚翅 SHARK FIN - YÜ CHI
Sharkfin is the be-all and end-all of luxury, and quite the most expensive of the three. And in some ways, it really is worth it. The textural effect is quite interesting - strands of protein-rich cartilage reduced to easily eaten toothsomeness. Nutritionally its value is mainly that it is extraordinarily high in protein (up to 80%), low in fat. Yes, like all expensive slimy ingredients, it is alleged to be good for your testicles or ovaries, or whatever else is connected to your squidgies. Pay that no mind.
Soaking time before use: Several days. The dried fin is first soaked for two or three day in several changes of water, before being simmered for a few hours on low heat with a little ginger and scallion. It is taken out, rinsed to cool, and the skin is removed as well as the bony bit down the centre. Then it is simmered again for three hours in clean water or stock, with ginger and scallion, drained and rinsed.... and simmered AGAIN for three hours in clean water or stock, with ginger and scallion. All soaking and simmering liquid is, of course, thrown out. After this, it is ready for its final precook: stock, ricewine, ginger and scallion. About an hour. Rinse, drain. And now it is finally ready for use.
I know what you're thinking..... "why", you are asking yourself, "all this fuss? Why even bother?"
魚翅湯 SHARK FIN SOUP - YÜ CHI TONG
6 - 8 oz Sharkfin, ready for use.
4 - 6 Cups superior stock or clear broth (高湯 - ko tong).
Quarter cup Cantonese roast duck (燒鴨 - siu ngaap), boned and shredded.
Quarter cup soaked trimmed sliced black mushroom (香菇 - heung gu).
Quarter cup whole shelled shrimp.
Quarter cup chopped baby bokchoi(小白菜 - siu pak tsoi).
4 Tbs Sherry.
2 Tbs Soy Sauce.
2 Tbs Cornstarch, mixed with equal amount water.
Ginger, two or three slices.
Scallion, two or three stems, in two or three inch pieces.
Ground white pepper, sesame oil, finely minced scallion, Tabasco.
Heat about three TBS oil in a wok. Add the ginger slices and the scallion pieces. Whack around briefly, and before the scallion burns remove it, followed by the ginger slices. This 'tempers' the oil.
Now pour in the stock, sherry, and soy sauce, taking care not to splash or burn yourself. Bring to a boil, turn low to simmer. Add the shark fin, followed by the roast duck, black mushrooms, and shrimp. Add the bokchoi, stir in the cornstarch to thicken, and adjust taste with ground white pepper, a delicate drizzle of sesame oil, a few drops Tabasco. Garnish with the minced scallion and serve.
I probably should mention at this point that this is NOT the standard shark fin soup, nor even, strictly speaking, a traditional treatment. You see, I have used both roast duck and baby bokchoi. The first because I love the added taste, the second because of the visual appeal and the texture.
There are in fact many ways of presenting sharkfin. Some are more luxurious than others.
You will probably also enjoy these three:
蟹肉扒翅 - 'Crab Meat Clutched Fin' (hai yiuk pa chi): Braised sharkfin with crab meat sauce in thick soup. A simple classic preparation.
錦繡海上鮮 - 'Brocade Embroidery Upon Ocean Freshness' (gam sau hoi seung sien): Sharkfin in assorted seafood soup with fish meat, crab, shrimp, clams, bamboo shoots, black mushrooms, and one whole lot of wonderful stuff.
通天排翅 - 'Connect to Heaven Arrayed Fin' (tong tien paai chi): Cleaned sharkfin stewed entire, decanted into a shallow bowl and laved with a rich brown sauce. The fin strands are aligned, and bent over gracefully because of the softness after cooking. This is a beloved Pekingese dish, by the way.
AFTERWORD
Why should you prepare sharkfin soup yourself instead of simply ordering it at a restaurant?
Firstly, it is a bit expensive. Most restaurants offer it at anywhere from twenty dollars per bowl (rare) to upwards of a hundred dollars per bowl in very fancy (i.e.: pretentious) places.
If you make it yourself, it is more affordable by much more than half, and the noise of the other diners (熱熱鬧鬧 - yityitnaunau) won't distract you.
Secondly, can you think of anything more suitable for Valentine's Day? Sharkfin soup, perfectly prepared. Far better than chocolates!
There you'll be, just the two of you ......... you'll be drinking in her lively brown eyes, pale ivory skin, dark dark hair. Glimmering candlelight, sparkling champagne flutes, fine china, damask. Just the two of you and a tureen of sharkfin soup. A soft little hand lifts a porcelain spoon......
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
A bit sad, really. There is so much good to eat that y'all really ought to explore.
But on the other hand, if you did do so, there would be far less to go around. So don't
Unless you're reading this.
In which case go ape.
燕窩 BIRDS NEST - YIN WO
Bird's Nest is used in both savoury soups and sweet dessert-type soups, and is considered excellent for women. It is thought to be tonifying, especially to the delicate feminine tissues, and also good for the skin. Consequently cheaper grades of bird's nest show up in a number of patent preparations, usually in unimpressive quantity at extraordinary price. Like many such gelatinous substances there are substitutes which are just as healthy that don't cost nearly as much.
When used in cooking, the taste is very mild and unobjectionable. When employed as part of an ostentation-feast, more flavoursome ingredients are often added. The result is quite pleasant.
Soaking time before use: less than an hour. It absorbs water enormously.
海參 SEA CUCUMBER - HOI SAAM
This is the dried body of a Holothuroid slug. For any number of reasons this is believed to be good for male virility and potency - you can probably figure out why, and we need not go there. Culinarily its main appeal is the capacity to soak up flavour from the other ingredients used in the dish. Texturally it is not at all unloveable either. Like with bird's nest, such ingredients as Chinese ham, wood ears, black mushroom, and chicken stock are used to oomph it up.
In my opinion the result is far better than bird's nest. May have something to do with my regard for my Johnson, but I doubt it.
Soaking time before use: Several days. After the first boil-up and simmering, it is rinsed and cleaned thoroughly, then resoaked in several changes of water to rehydrate.
魚翅 SHARK FIN - YÜ CHI
Sharkfin is the be-all and end-all of luxury, and quite the most expensive of the three. And in some ways, it really is worth it. The textural effect is quite interesting - strands of protein-rich cartilage reduced to easily eaten toothsomeness. Nutritionally its value is mainly that it is extraordinarily high in protein (up to 80%), low in fat. Yes, like all expensive slimy ingredients, it is alleged to be good for your testicles or ovaries, or whatever else is connected to your squidgies. Pay that no mind.
Soaking time before use: Several days. The dried fin is first soaked for two or three day in several changes of water, before being simmered for a few hours on low heat with a little ginger and scallion. It is taken out, rinsed to cool, and the skin is removed as well as the bony bit down the centre. Then it is simmered again for three hours in clean water or stock, with ginger and scallion, drained and rinsed.... and simmered AGAIN for three hours in clean water or stock, with ginger and scallion. All soaking and simmering liquid is, of course, thrown out. After this, it is ready for its final precook: stock, ricewine, ginger and scallion. About an hour. Rinse, drain. And now it is finally ready for use.
I know what you're thinking..... "why", you are asking yourself, "all this fuss? Why even bother?"
魚翅湯 SHARK FIN SOUP - YÜ CHI TONG
6 - 8 oz Sharkfin, ready for use.
4 - 6 Cups superior stock or clear broth (高湯 - ko tong).
Quarter cup Cantonese roast duck (燒鴨 - siu ngaap), boned and shredded.
Quarter cup soaked trimmed sliced black mushroom (香菇 - heung gu).
Quarter cup whole shelled shrimp.
Quarter cup chopped baby bokchoi(小白菜 - siu pak tsoi).
4 Tbs Sherry.
2 Tbs Soy Sauce.
2 Tbs Cornstarch, mixed with equal amount water.
Ginger, two or three slices.
Scallion, two or three stems, in two or three inch pieces.
Ground white pepper, sesame oil, finely minced scallion, Tabasco.
Heat about three TBS oil in a wok. Add the ginger slices and the scallion pieces. Whack around briefly, and before the scallion burns remove it, followed by the ginger slices. This 'tempers' the oil.
Now pour in the stock, sherry, and soy sauce, taking care not to splash or burn yourself. Bring to a boil, turn low to simmer. Add the shark fin, followed by the roast duck, black mushrooms, and shrimp. Add the bokchoi, stir in the cornstarch to thicken, and adjust taste with ground white pepper, a delicate drizzle of sesame oil, a few drops Tabasco. Garnish with the minced scallion and serve.
I probably should mention at this point that this is NOT the standard shark fin soup, nor even, strictly speaking, a traditional treatment. You see, I have used both roast duck and baby bokchoi. The first because I love the added taste, the second because of the visual appeal and the texture.
There are in fact many ways of presenting sharkfin. Some are more luxurious than others.
You will probably also enjoy these three:
蟹肉扒翅 - 'Crab Meat Clutched Fin' (hai yiuk pa chi): Braised sharkfin with crab meat sauce in thick soup. A simple classic preparation.
錦繡海上鮮 - 'Brocade Embroidery Upon Ocean Freshness' (gam sau hoi seung sien): Sharkfin in assorted seafood soup with fish meat, crab, shrimp, clams, bamboo shoots, black mushrooms, and one whole lot of wonderful stuff.
通天排翅 - 'Connect to Heaven Arrayed Fin' (tong tien paai chi): Cleaned sharkfin stewed entire, decanted into a shallow bowl and laved with a rich brown sauce. The fin strands are aligned, and bent over gracefully because of the softness after cooking. This is a beloved Pekingese dish, by the way.
AFTERWORD
Why should you prepare sharkfin soup yourself instead of simply ordering it at a restaurant?
Firstly, it is a bit expensive. Most restaurants offer it at anywhere from twenty dollars per bowl (rare) to upwards of a hundred dollars per bowl in very fancy (i.e.: pretentious) places.
If you make it yourself, it is more affordable by much more than half, and the noise of the other diners (熱熱鬧鬧 - yityitnaunau) won't distract you.
Secondly, can you think of anything more suitable for Valentine's Day? Sharkfin soup, perfectly prepared. Far better than chocolates!
There you'll be, just the two of you ......... you'll be drinking in her lively brown eyes, pale ivory skin, dark dark hair. Glimmering candlelight, sparkling champagne flutes, fine china, damask. Just the two of you and a tureen of sharkfin soup. A soft little hand lifts a porcelain spoon......
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
NIRVANA ATTAINABLE NOW! JUST ONE BUCK!
One of the things that typifies modern society is how people look at the homeless. Or, more particularly, not look at them. Upon seeing someone begging for change, most people let their vision go out of focus, so that as they walk briskly past, they will not make any eye-contact.
They actually can see that person - and that person knows that they can see them.
It's just a pretense. Not a very good one either.
What does it do to someone who is down and out to know that they have become invisible?
Some people no doubt feel that as they already give to charity, it is not (as) necessary to give to the individual. Surely there are organizations and bureaucracies that deal with the poor, homeless, and hungry, why must they stand on that street corner? Why should anyone 'see' them?
A few people think that there are numerous 'bums' out there scamming the system, and "getting rich off of my tax money dammit!"
The 'bums' getting rich off of your tax money are political donors to the more reprehensible right-wing candidates, dear reader. They may even be your employers or clients.
They are not the indigents on the route to the BART station.
If you can afford an extra large fries with your lunch, or drinks at your neighborhood bar, you can afford to give a buck to a man without legs.
Someone who says that they're starving? That person likely is starving. Hungry at least.
Probably gonna spend that buck on beer or drugs? Ummmmm, a large percentage of the folks walking by also spend money on beer and drugs...... I'm not entirely sure how temporarily alleviating one's misery is actually a bad judgment call. But you're right, diet pills and membership in a health club are far better.
And just as affordable! For! Someone! Who! Just! Got! A! buck!
Really, why are you so passionate about how that buck is spent?
What I'm trying to say is that a little bit of generosity is not really that bad for the pocketbook - at probably not even five bucks a day it costs less than a cocktail during 'happy hour' - but extraordinarily good for the soul. Just have one drink less, or buy your own bottle and drink in the dark.
You'll feel better about yourself.
And someone else, no matter how temporarily, will also feel better about you.
Even without the liquor.
Make the world a better place than it is, and become a better person than you are.
That's all that is required, and it really isn't that much.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
They actually can see that person - and that person knows that they can see them.
It's just a pretense. Not a very good one either.
What does it do to someone who is down and out to know that they have become invisible?
Some people no doubt feel that as they already give to charity, it is not (as) necessary to give to the individual. Surely there are organizations and bureaucracies that deal with the poor, homeless, and hungry, why must they stand on that street corner? Why should anyone 'see' them?
A few people think that there are numerous 'bums' out there scamming the system, and "getting rich off of my tax money dammit!"
The 'bums' getting rich off of your tax money are political donors to the more reprehensible right-wing candidates, dear reader. They may even be your employers or clients.
They are not the indigents on the route to the BART station.
If you can afford an extra large fries with your lunch, or drinks at your neighborhood bar, you can afford to give a buck to a man without legs.
Someone who says that they're starving? That person likely is starving. Hungry at least.
Probably gonna spend that buck on beer or drugs? Ummmmm, a large percentage of the folks walking by also spend money on beer and drugs...... I'm not entirely sure how temporarily alleviating one's misery is actually a bad judgment call. But you're right, diet pills and membership in a health club are far better.
And just as affordable! For! Someone! Who! Just! Got! A! buck!
Really, why are you so passionate about how that buck is spent?
What I'm trying to say is that a little bit of generosity is not really that bad for the pocketbook - at probably not even five bucks a day it costs less than a cocktail during 'happy hour' - but extraordinarily good for the soul. Just have one drink less, or buy your own bottle and drink in the dark.
You'll feel better about yourself.
And someone else, no matter how temporarily, will also feel better about you.
Even without the liquor.
Make the world a better place than it is, and become a better person than you are.
That's all that is required, and it really isn't that much.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, November 09, 2010
POEM ABOUT JACK
Jack is the last living Stalinist.
He infests North Beach, especially the Caffe Trieste and Specs.
Not quite self-hating, but very damned close.
Dysfunctional.
A professional beatnick.
Lousy poet.
Worse translator - I've seen what he's done to stuff by Jules Deelder.
Who, in mittn drinnen, I knew way before Jack had even heard of him.
A yutz, a noodge, and a nebbish mit oren.
Feel free to exclaim 'feh'.
Damn that's ugly facial hair!
I will not buy your rag.
Stop declaiming in French.
Espresso iz echt nisht proletarish.
***** ***** *****
NOTE: It should be fairly obvious to those in the know who the person might be who is lauded in this sonnet.
Ve hamayvin yayvin.
If you think this is horrible 'free-verse' (you get what you pay for), you should hear some of the crap that the residents of North Beach write. Beatnik was bad, antique beatnik is worse.
Most of them have not done an honest day's work in their lives, their hands are soft, and their backbones limp.
This is just an opinion. But it is an educated opinion.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
He infests North Beach, especially the Caffe Trieste and Specs.
Not quite self-hating, but very damned close.
Dysfunctional.
A professional beatnick.
Lousy poet.
Worse translator - I've seen what he's done to stuff by Jules Deelder.
Who, in mittn drinnen, I knew way before Jack had even heard of him.
A yutz, a noodge, and a nebbish mit oren.
Feel free to exclaim 'feh'.
Damn that's ugly facial hair!
I will not buy your rag.
Stop declaiming in French.
Espresso iz echt nisht proletarish.
***** ***** *****
NOTE: It should be fairly obvious to those in the know who the person might be who is lauded in this sonnet.
Ve hamayvin yayvin.
If you think this is horrible 'free-verse' (you get what you pay for), you should hear some of the crap that the residents of North Beach write. Beatnik was bad, antique beatnik is worse.
Most of them have not done an honest day's work in their lives, their hands are soft, and their backbones limp.
This is just an opinion. But it is an educated opinion.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
IT'S A BIRD, A TRAIN, A MEME! FIFTEEN AUTHORS IN FIFTEEN MINUTES
Something.
On Facebook I and several other people got dished a quandum.
15 in 15:
"The Invitation Guidelines: Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen authors (poets included) who have influenced you and that will always stick with you. List the first fifteen you can recall in no more than 15 minutes. Tag at least 15 of your friends, including me, because I'm interested in seeing which authors you choose. To do this, go to your Notes tab on your profile page, paste the rules in a new note, cast your 15 picks and tag people in the note."
Okay. Here goes:
Dovbear, Gerbrand Adriaenszoon Brederode, Johan Fabricius, William Faulkner, Rudyard Kipling, James Legge, Wyndham Lewis, Meng Ke (孟軻), Vladimir Nabokov, Chaim Potok, Mary Renault, Tjali Robinson (aka Jan Boon, Vincent Mahieu), Phillip Roth, Jonathan Sacks, Rabbi Pinky Schmeckelstein, Shen Fu (沈復), Sun Wu (孫武), Su Shi (蘇軾), Joseph Telushkin, Tennessee Williams, Marguerite Yourcenar.
Yes, that is more than fifteen. I am easily influenced.
And note that I left out the author of the Song of Songs, which is Solomon's (Shir Hashirim Asher LiShlomo), even though that has probably influenced me more than almost anything else (I am, after all, a perverse man), primarily because I'm not at all certain who the author was.
And neither are you.
NOW SHOW ME YOURS!
I am particularly aiming this at Midianite Manna (Tzipporah) and Search for Emmes (e-kvetcher). As well as the Amphibian.
For reference purposes, here are the results from some other people.
Steffy Chou:
CS Lewis, Alice Walker (hate the bitch), Ken Kesey, JK Rowling, Vladimir Nabokov, Helen Gurley Brown, Germaine Greer, Harry Kemelman, Richard Brautigan, Jade Snow Wong, Banana Yoshimoto, Kawabata Yasunari, Tanizaki Junichiro, Takahashi Rumiko, Judy Blume.
Moshe HaKohen mi Oakland:
John Steinbeck, Jonathan Sacks, Oliver Sacks, Primo Levi, Amos Oz, Isaac Bashevis Singer, Benny Morris, Elie Weisel, Chaim Potok, Dorothy Sayers, Isaac Asimov, Robert Heinlein, Russell Baker, Thomas Szasz, Murray Rothbard.
David B. in Chicago:
Naguib Mahfouz, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Bernard Cornwell, Thomas Wolfe(Original), C.S. Lewis, Thomas Merton, Yosef Baer Soleveitchik, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Marc Angel, David Hartman, Gilbert K. Chesterton, Isiaiah Berlin, Andre Brink, Nadine Gordimer, Max Lucado.
Steven H. also in Chicago:
Tom Wolfe, Hunter Thompson, Doris Lessing, Mark Twain, Kurt Vonnegut, Joyce Carol Oats, Herman Wouk, Mike Royko, Dorothy Parker, Hemingway, Bob Woodward, Jay Mcinerney, Phillip Roth, John Keegan, Dostoevsky.
The instigator of this shtuss, Frank in the East Bay:
Tom Robbins, Shakespeare, James Baldwin, William Faulkner, Bram Stoker, T.S. Eliot, Robert Burns, Kate Simon, Douglas Adams, Violet Blue, D.H. Lawrence, Anthony Bourdain, Emily Bronte, Sam Harris, Roger Zelazny.
Please do feel free to join the fun. If you read, we want to hear about it.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
On Facebook I and several other people got dished a quandum.
15 in 15:
"The Invitation Guidelines: Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen authors (poets included) who have influenced you and that will always stick with you. List the first fifteen you can recall in no more than 15 minutes. Tag at least 15 of your friends, including me, because I'm interested in seeing which authors you choose. To do this, go to your Notes tab on your profile page, paste the rules in a new note, cast your 15 picks and tag people in the note."
Okay. Here goes:
Dovbear, Gerbrand Adriaenszoon Brederode, Johan Fabricius, William Faulkner, Rudyard Kipling, James Legge, Wyndham Lewis, Meng Ke (孟軻), Vladimir Nabokov, Chaim Potok, Mary Renault, Tjali Robinson (aka Jan Boon, Vincent Mahieu), Phillip Roth, Jonathan Sacks, Rabbi Pinky Schmeckelstein, Shen Fu (沈復), Sun Wu (孫武), Su Shi (蘇軾), Joseph Telushkin, Tennessee Williams, Marguerite Yourcenar.
Yes, that is more than fifteen. I am easily influenced.
And note that I left out the author of the Song of Songs, which is Solomon's (Shir Hashirim Asher LiShlomo), even though that has probably influenced me more than almost anything else (I am, after all, a perverse man), primarily because I'm not at all certain who the author was.
And neither are you.
NOW SHOW ME YOURS!
I am particularly aiming this at Midianite Manna (Tzipporah) and Search for Emmes (e-kvetcher). As well as the Amphibian.
For reference purposes, here are the results from some other people.
Steffy Chou:
CS Lewis, Alice Walker (hate the bitch), Ken Kesey, JK Rowling, Vladimir Nabokov, Helen Gurley Brown, Germaine Greer, Harry Kemelman, Richard Brautigan, Jade Snow Wong, Banana Yoshimoto, Kawabata Yasunari, Tanizaki Junichiro, Takahashi Rumiko, Judy Blume.
Moshe HaKohen mi Oakland:
John Steinbeck, Jonathan Sacks, Oliver Sacks, Primo Levi, Amos Oz, Isaac Bashevis Singer, Benny Morris, Elie Weisel, Chaim Potok, Dorothy Sayers, Isaac Asimov, Robert Heinlein, Russell Baker, Thomas Szasz, Murray Rothbard.
David B. in Chicago:
Naguib Mahfouz, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Bernard Cornwell, Thomas Wolfe(Original), C.S. Lewis, Thomas Merton, Yosef Baer Soleveitchik, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Marc Angel, David Hartman, Gilbert K. Chesterton, Isiaiah Berlin, Andre Brink, Nadine Gordimer, Max Lucado.
Steven H. also in Chicago:
Tom Wolfe, Hunter Thompson, Doris Lessing, Mark Twain, Kurt Vonnegut, Joyce Carol Oats, Herman Wouk, Mike Royko, Dorothy Parker, Hemingway, Bob Woodward, Jay Mcinerney, Phillip Roth, John Keegan, Dostoevsky.
The instigator of this shtuss, Frank in the East Bay:
Tom Robbins, Shakespeare, James Baldwin, William Faulkner, Bram Stoker, T.S. Eliot, Robert Burns, Kate Simon, Douglas Adams, Violet Blue, D.H. Lawrence, Anthony Bourdain, Emily Bronte, Sam Harris, Roger Zelazny.
Please do feel free to join the fun. If you read, we want to hear about it.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
WISH YOU WERE HERE!
One of my customers has relocated to Hong Kong, to an area that I know relatively well, but many of my Philippino-Chinese friends and acquaintances know much better.
This is the address in Chinese:
香港 九龍 尖沙咀 廣東道 5號 海洋中心
[Heung-gong, Kau-lung, Tsim sa tsui, Kwong-tung tou, ng-ho, hoi yeung chong sam – "Fragrant harbour, Nine dragons, Sharp sand mouth, Broad-East road, fifth number, Ocean centre."]
That is quite the liveliest place.
Right next to the Star Ferry Pier (尖沙咀碼頭 tsimsatsui ma-tou; also the ferry to central: 中環天星碼頭 chong-wan tien-sing ma-tou). Ma-tou, as you can guess, means 'pier' or 'dock'.
Near Ocean Terminal (海運大廈 hoi waan taai ha), and just up from Salisbury Road (梳士巴利道 sosibalei tou).
It's a major shopping area - for instance: Harbour City (海港城 hoi gong seng) – several hundred expensive shops.
All the well-known brand names have boutiques in that stretch of Canton Road.
Not that I'm interested in shopping - that's what Phillipino-Chinese are for. But while they are going ape with Gucci and Prada, I'll just retire to a food court or head off on my own.
No, Pingping, you can NOT have my credit card. Crazy, I'm so not.
Hmmmm, food. Lots of good eats in that area. Food.
Food. Food. Foooooooood.
IPAKISHOPSHOP!
Please do not from the above assume that Savage Kitten or anybody else I am at present or have been in the past, or even may in future have an attachment to or affection for, is Philippino-Chinese. While Philippino-Chinese young ladies can be quite charming, they almost all come from an Industrial-Fujianese background...... and consequently know all the expensive brand names as if they were beloved relatives, worship status objects like shoes and handbags from famous manufacturers like gods, and have price-charts imprinted permanently in the back of their minds.
Lovely creatures, but in gonzen not my type.
Note: This is a forward-looking statement. Things may change, I might even lose my mind or any shred of common sense.
Insanity and brain-rot do sometimes happen - I've seen the effects.
If, entirely (99.99%) hypothetically, I ran across a nice Philippino-Chinese girl, from an educated family with old-style literati values, who herself was far more interested in books than shopping (hoohah!), I could very well befuddle myself quite befeveredly.
Not at all likely, but it is possible.
A sign of the end times and the rain of blood, but, nevertheless, possible.
Great calligraphers and scholars have indeed come from Fujian, not a few either. But the Fujianese who over the centuries bailed out to the Philippines have by-and-large had more pressing interests.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
This is the address in Chinese:
香港 九龍 尖沙咀 廣東道 5號 海洋中心
[Heung-gong, Kau-lung, Tsim sa tsui, Kwong-tung tou, ng-ho, hoi yeung chong sam – "Fragrant harbour, Nine dragons, Sharp sand mouth, Broad-East road, fifth number, Ocean centre."]
That is quite the liveliest place.
Right next to the Star Ferry Pier (尖沙咀碼頭 tsimsatsui ma-tou; also the ferry to central: 中環天星碼頭 chong-wan tien-sing ma-tou). Ma-tou, as you can guess, means 'pier' or 'dock'.
Near Ocean Terminal (海運大廈 hoi waan taai ha), and just up from Salisbury Road (梳士巴利道 sosibalei tou).
It's a major shopping area - for instance: Harbour City (海港城 hoi gong seng) – several hundred expensive shops.
All the well-known brand names have boutiques in that stretch of Canton Road.
Not that I'm interested in shopping - that's what Phillipino-Chinese are for. But while they are going ape with Gucci and Prada, I'll just retire to a food court or head off on my own.
No, Pingping, you can NOT have my credit card. Crazy, I'm so not.
Hmmmm, food. Lots of good eats in that area. Food.
Food. Food. Foooooooood.
IPAKISHOPSHOP!
Please do not from the above assume that Savage Kitten or anybody else I am at present or have been in the past, or even may in future have an attachment to or affection for, is Philippino-Chinese. While Philippino-Chinese young ladies can be quite charming, they almost all come from an Industrial-Fujianese background...... and consequently know all the expensive brand names as if they were beloved relatives, worship status objects like shoes and handbags from famous manufacturers like gods, and have price-charts imprinted permanently in the back of their minds.
Lovely creatures, but in gonzen not my type.
Note: This is a forward-looking statement. Things may change, I might even lose my mind or any shred of common sense.
Insanity and brain-rot do sometimes happen - I've seen the effects.
If, entirely (99.99%) hypothetically, I ran across a nice Philippino-Chinese girl, from an educated family with old-style literati values, who herself was far more interested in books than shopping (hoohah!), I could very well befuddle myself quite befeveredly.
Not at all likely, but it is possible.
A sign of the end times and the rain of blood, but, nevertheless, possible.
Great calligraphers and scholars have indeed come from Fujian, not a few either. But the Fujianese who over the centuries bailed out to the Philippines have by-and-large had more pressing interests.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Monday, November 08, 2010
STEAMED MEAT PATTY: 咸魚肉餅 - HAAHM YU YIUK BENG
A discussion on another blog reminded me of one of my favourite old-timey Cantonese dishes, one which is rarely offered in restaurants because it is too home-style, too unpretentious.
As well as being quite unimpressively simple, and not likely to appeal to the refined tastes of educated white folks.
Who, as everyone knows, are famous for their refined tastes.
And tender sensibilities. Yes.
咸魚肉餅 - HAAHM YU YIUK BENG
[Salt-fish steamed pork patty, also called 咸魚蒸肉餅 haahm yu jing yiuk beng. Jing (蒸) means 'steamed'.]
One pound fatty ground pork.
One TBS cornstarch.
Half TBS soy sauce.
Half TBS sherry.
Half TBS oil (optional - how fatty is your pork?).
A little garlic and ginger, minced fine.
Pinch of sugar.
Salt fish, between 2 and 3 oz, rinsed and soaked, patted dry and cut into a few pieces.
Mix everything except the salt fish together and let it stand thirty minutes. Then spread it into an oiled shallow bowl or plate, arrange the salt fish on top. Steam until done. If you have spread it thinly and you have a big steamer, it will only take ten minutes or so. If, on the other hand, you've made a thick layer it may take half an hour.
Sprinkle some shredded fresh ginger and scallion on top ere serving.
Please note that the salt fish is optional - if you are very white you might not like it. But the whiffy salty fishy fermenty sabor autentico it adds is VERY important to the experience.
Besides making it utterly delicious.
You could also substitute some other ingredients in moderation - szechuan pressed vegetable, dried scallop, shrimp paste, whatever.
I usually replace some of the ground pork with Italian sausage. Just squeeze it out of its skin and mix it in.
==========================================================================
UPDATE as of 11/10/10: Which post on that blog? This one: PANCAKE.
If you are offended, well, that's just too bad. I'm certain there is a lot about you that I find hideously offensive, nay, repulsive even. With far more justification. And if you in any way sympathized with that horrid person, OR her loathsome parental units, feel free to shut up. I will not be interested in your opinion, as I have already had plenty of exposure to Berkeleyites - I used to go to school there. Berkeley blows.
Berkeley is ground zero for people who feel soft and gushy about murdererous savages. Feel free to join the congregation at St. John's Presbyterian Church on College Avenue in Berkeley, which hosted an anti-Semitic replacement theology love-in during 2007. Without a doubt you can find someone there who agrees with every subhuman idea that ferments in that dried up rear-end wiping rag that is your soul. That church is filled with them. Berkeley, remember? Your mother is a hamster and your father smelled of elderberries.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
As well as being quite unimpressively simple, and not likely to appeal to the refined tastes of educated white folks.
Who, as everyone knows, are famous for their refined tastes.
And tender sensibilities. Yes.
咸魚肉餅 - HAAHM YU YIUK BENG
[Salt-fish steamed pork patty, also called 咸魚蒸肉餅 haahm yu jing yiuk beng. Jing (蒸) means 'steamed'.]
One pound fatty ground pork.
One TBS cornstarch.
Half TBS soy sauce.
Half TBS sherry.
Half TBS oil (optional - how fatty is your pork?).
A little garlic and ginger, minced fine.
Pinch of sugar.
Salt fish, between 2 and 3 oz, rinsed and soaked, patted dry and cut into a few pieces.
Mix everything except the salt fish together and let it stand thirty minutes. Then spread it into an oiled shallow bowl or plate, arrange the salt fish on top. Steam until done. If you have spread it thinly and you have a big steamer, it will only take ten minutes or so. If, on the other hand, you've made a thick layer it may take half an hour.
Sprinkle some shredded fresh ginger and scallion on top ere serving.
Please note that the salt fish is optional - if you are very white you might not like it. But the whiffy salty fishy fermenty sabor autentico it adds is VERY important to the experience.
Besides making it utterly delicious.
You could also substitute some other ingredients in moderation - szechuan pressed vegetable, dried scallop, shrimp paste, whatever.
I usually replace some of the ground pork with Italian sausage. Just squeeze it out of its skin and mix it in.
==========================================================================
UPDATE as of 11/10/10: Which post on that blog? This one: PANCAKE.
If you are offended, well, that's just too bad. I'm certain there is a lot about you that I find hideously offensive, nay, repulsive even. With far more justification. And if you in any way sympathized with that horrid person, OR her loathsome parental units, feel free to shut up. I will not be interested in your opinion, as I have already had plenty of exposure to Berkeleyites - I used to go to school there. Berkeley blows.
Berkeley is ground zero for people who feel soft and gushy about murdererous savages. Feel free to join the congregation at St. John's Presbyterian Church on College Avenue in Berkeley, which hosted an anti-Semitic replacement theology love-in during 2007. Without a doubt you can find someone there who agrees with every subhuman idea that ferments in that dried up rear-end wiping rag that is your soul. That church is filled with them. Berkeley, remember? Your mother is a hamster and your father smelled of elderberries.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
MY VICTROLA IS STUCK IN A PREVIOUS YEAR
Been listening to music on Youtube again this weekend. My musical selection either says something about me, or it doesn't. Probably the latter.
Feel free to leave insightful comments about that underneath this post.
WORLD WAR TWO PARTIZAN SONGS
The first two are Italian, the third is Yugoslav.
Bandiera Rossa
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P5I-RTRBua0
Fischia il Vento
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rqrInp08Z40&feature=related
Hej, Brigade!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZTJwXhYUtSc
Both Italian songs are described in Wikipedia. So is the Yugoslav song, but unfortunately not in English. The Serbo-Croat wikipedia article does give the lyrics, though, both for the first version (prva verzia) and the later version (druga verzia - second version).
Note that the J in Serbo-Croat is pronounced like Y in English.
Please do sing along if you are so inclined.
CHINESE SONGS FROM THE LAST CENTURY
Before flower power, free love, and rock & roll.
Whole World Again Spring (大地回春 ta-di hui chun), sung by Wu Ying-yin (吳鶯音)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X9yz2h3aJYU
Second Time Spring (第二春 di er chun), sung by Tung Pei-pei (董佩佩)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vzu4yWWZwNI
This Spring is Ours (春天是我們的 chun-tian shr womende), a duet by Tung Pei-pei and Huang He (合唱: 董佩佩和黃河 ho-chang: Tung Pei-pei he Huang He).
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ME4TIHdXgkA
AFTER WORD
The first song listed (Bandiera Rossa) features a very personable hippo. Gotta like the hippo. Dig the hippo.
The final two songs listed are sung by an artist whose records are no longer commonly circulated. Unlike several other songbirds of the Mandarin movie and nightclub world that flourished from the late twenties to the fifties, Tung Pei-pei seems to have come from obscurity and faded back into obscurity. I think she has a lovely voice.
If any of my readers know more about her, I would keenly appreciate your information.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Feel free to leave insightful comments about that underneath this post.
WORLD WAR TWO PARTIZAN SONGS
The first two are Italian, the third is Yugoslav.
Bandiera Rossa
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P5I-RTRBua0
Fischia il Vento
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rqrInp08Z40&feature=related
Hej, Brigade!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZTJwXhYUtSc
Both Italian songs are described in Wikipedia. So is the Yugoslav song, but unfortunately not in English. The Serbo-Croat wikipedia article does give the lyrics, though, both for the first version (prva verzia) and the later version (druga verzia - second version).
Note that the J in Serbo-Croat is pronounced like Y in English.
Please do sing along if you are so inclined.
CHINESE SONGS FROM THE LAST CENTURY
Before flower power, free love, and rock & roll.
Whole World Again Spring (大地回春 ta-di hui chun), sung by Wu Ying-yin (吳鶯音)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X9yz2h3aJYU
Second Time Spring (第二春 di er chun), sung by Tung Pei-pei (董佩佩)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vzu4yWWZwNI
This Spring is Ours (春天是我們的 chun-tian shr womende), a duet by Tung Pei-pei and Huang He (合唱: 董佩佩和黃河 ho-chang: Tung Pei-pei he Huang He).
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ME4TIHdXgkA
AFTER WORD
The first song listed (Bandiera Rossa) features a very personable hippo. Gotta like the hippo. Dig the hippo.
The final two songs listed are sung by an artist whose records are no longer commonly circulated. Unlike several other songbirds of the Mandarin movie and nightclub world that flourished from the late twenties to the fifties, Tung Pei-pei seems to have come from obscurity and faded back into obscurity. I think she has a lovely voice.
If any of my readers know more about her, I would keenly appreciate your information.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Saturday, November 06, 2010
I AM THE WOMBAT!
According to Wikipedia, "Although mainly crepuscular and nocturnal, wombats will also venture out to feed on cool or overcast days". That doesn't really describe it, and the part about a fourteen-day digestive process isn't germane either. Nor is the bit about an extraordinarily tough and durable rump. Cartilage.
What applies is the crusty temper when faced with intruders in its terrain.
I am, as you may have guessed, not the most perfectly social of creatures, albeit fubsy and huggable.
Oh, and I have a large brain. Comparatively.
Years ago it always hurt when I discovered that I had been excluded from a celebration, or that people near and dear to me were hesitant about exposing me to their friends. In Valkenswaard it had proven extraordinarily difficult to connect with people. Not person to person on an individual basis, but PEOPLE. Multiples.
I remember several wonderful parties I heard about after they had taken place - the jollification was discussed in glowing terms by everybody who had been there.
I often discovered that not only was the host a member of my circle of "friends", so were all of the invitees.
My father, as an example of a different kind, always held off on introducing me to his old friends in California after I had moved back here. Though he did hold it out as a possibility once I graduated. In consequence thereof I knew very few people beyond my own classmates and the folks at the pipe store.
I knew that they existed, but I did not know them.
He had probably never heard the term Asperger's syndrome' as applied to individuals operating with an alternative interpersonal toolbox, but he surely recognized the pattern.
One of my Berkeley friends was extraordinarily hesitant about my ever meeting any of her or her family's social group, and rigorously briefed me before any events to which I was invited. And it turns out that afterwards she (and I) would hear through the grapevine that they wondered why she even associated with me, or something like that.
OUT OF THE MANY, ONE
It took me a while to figure out what the problem was.
I am modulated well enough, but I am quite out of tune. My reactions are (usually) not very discordant, but I am quite clueless about body language and the subtle signs that perhaps the conversation may have moved in a different direction. The phrase 'doesn't play well with others' applies, yes, but is nevertheless rather meaningless when one is reading from the wrong rule-book.
I'm just not a group person. One on one works well - I listen to the speaker and react in measure, though sometimes too thoughtfully and intensely, or occasionally with odd (incomprehensible) humour.
Gatherings of people (plural!) are just not my bag. I'm good for taking long walks with, horribly unsuitable for the team. Any team.
If all of us were stampeding, I'd probably get distracted by a fascinating lizard with an unusual fungoid affliction of its scales.
I try to be subtle about it, but still comes through loud and clear in my body language, posture and facial signs. Unconscious, unintended, but fully understood.
Damned good thing I'm adept at hiding my emotions, don't you agree? 'That's okay, I don't mind, honestly!'
Some things are best kept in the dark. I do all my weeping nocturnally. Which is also when I gnash my teeth.
I don't mind the solitude, I have some of my best conversations by myself.
At least I share all of my interests.
"They can be awkwardly tamed in a captive situation, and even coaxed into being patted and held, possibly becoming quite friendly."
['Wombat' --- From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.]
I suspect that through the years almost everybody around me realized that I was socially inadequate. Perhaps not consciously - the phrase "you should have been there!" got uttered thoughtlessly often, though.
But "you should have been there" is not nearly as warm in its effect as "I really would like it if you came".
My involvement is frequently vicarious and after-the-fact.
I seem to be the person about whom others will say "you must really meet him". Exhibit "A", so to speak. In some ways the freakshow.
Several languages, in-depth historical knowledge, culinary answers, and multiple interests.
But no small talk. Don't know or even care to know Jack about sports. Haven't seen the latest hot teevee series. Haven't paid any attention to popular music since Cool and The Gang.
Really, I couldn't recognize a celebrity if she came up and bit me in the donkey. Oprah who?
I haven't been to a cocktail party in nearly two decades.
Nor am I the person who gets invited to a picnic or a tea-dance.
I did attend a bachelorette party once.
"you should have been there!"
Yep, still hear that regularly.
A good friend very recently asked for restaurant recommendations. He wishes to throw a little get together in a week or two, to thank many people for their kindness and consideration over the years. So of course, in discussing the food possibilities and transit options, I found out who is coming. Turns out that I know almost all of them.
I am NOT invited.
He prefers to deal with me in much smaller groups.
I know that. Really, I understand.
I'm hurt, but I'm not letting on. Hell will freeze over first.
Fortunately he never reads my blog.
Savage Kitten is similar in some ways. I've heard about her friends, and she has introduced them to each other.
But I have not met many of her friends, ever. None in nearly ten years. And since we broke up as a couple, it is increasingly less likely that I ever will.
There are people in her life who at this point I know better than Christ, whom I wouldn't recognize on the street.
I don't really like dining alone. But at least I'm an excellent cook.
==========================================================================
NOTE: If you wish, you may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
What applies is the crusty temper when faced with intruders in its terrain.
I am, as you may have guessed, not the most perfectly social of creatures, albeit fubsy and huggable.
Oh, and I have a large brain. Comparatively.
Years ago it always hurt when I discovered that I had been excluded from a celebration, or that people near and dear to me were hesitant about exposing me to their friends. In Valkenswaard it had proven extraordinarily difficult to connect with people. Not person to person on an individual basis, but PEOPLE. Multiples.
I remember several wonderful parties I heard about after they had taken place - the jollification was discussed in glowing terms by everybody who had been there.
I often discovered that not only was the host a member of my circle of "friends", so were all of the invitees.
My father, as an example of a different kind, always held off on introducing me to his old friends in California after I had moved back here. Though he did hold it out as a possibility once I graduated. In consequence thereof I knew very few people beyond my own classmates and the folks at the pipe store.
I knew that they existed, but I did not know them.
He had probably never heard the term Asperger's syndrome' as applied to individuals operating with an alternative interpersonal toolbox, but he surely recognized the pattern.
One of my Berkeley friends was extraordinarily hesitant about my ever meeting any of her or her family's social group, and rigorously briefed me before any events to which I was invited. And it turns out that afterwards she (and I) would hear through the grapevine that they wondered why she even associated with me, or something like that.
OUT OF THE MANY, ONE
It took me a while to figure out what the problem was.
I am modulated well enough, but I am quite out of tune. My reactions are (usually) not very discordant, but I am quite clueless about body language and the subtle signs that perhaps the conversation may have moved in a different direction. The phrase 'doesn't play well with others' applies, yes, but is nevertheless rather meaningless when one is reading from the wrong rule-book.
I'm just not a group person. One on one works well - I listen to the speaker and react in measure, though sometimes too thoughtfully and intensely, or occasionally with odd (incomprehensible) humour.
Gatherings of people (plural!) are just not my bag. I'm good for taking long walks with, horribly unsuitable for the team. Any team.
If all of us were stampeding, I'd probably get distracted by a fascinating lizard with an unusual fungoid affliction of its scales.
I try to be subtle about it, but still comes through loud and clear in my body language, posture and facial signs. Unconscious, unintended, but fully understood.
Damned good thing I'm adept at hiding my emotions, don't you agree? 'That's okay, I don't mind, honestly!'
Some things are best kept in the dark. I do all my weeping nocturnally. Which is also when I gnash my teeth.
I don't mind the solitude, I have some of my best conversations by myself.
At least I share all of my interests.
"They can be awkwardly tamed in a captive situation, and even coaxed into being patted and held, possibly becoming quite friendly."
['Wombat' --- From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.]
I suspect that through the years almost everybody around me realized that I was socially inadequate. Perhaps not consciously - the phrase "you should have been there!" got uttered thoughtlessly often, though.
But "you should have been there" is not nearly as warm in its effect as "I really would like it if you came".
My involvement is frequently vicarious and after-the-fact.
I seem to be the person about whom others will say "you must really meet him". Exhibit "A", so to speak. In some ways the freakshow.
Several languages, in-depth historical knowledge, culinary answers, and multiple interests.
But no small talk. Don't know or even care to know Jack about sports. Haven't seen the latest hot teevee series. Haven't paid any attention to popular music since Cool and The Gang.
Really, I couldn't recognize a celebrity if she came up and bit me in the donkey. Oprah who?
I haven't been to a cocktail party in nearly two decades.
Nor am I the person who gets invited to a picnic or a tea-dance.
I did attend a bachelorette party once.
"you should have been there!"
Yep, still hear that regularly.
A good friend very recently asked for restaurant recommendations. He wishes to throw a little get together in a week or two, to thank many people for their kindness and consideration over the years. So of course, in discussing the food possibilities and transit options, I found out who is coming. Turns out that I know almost all of them.
I am NOT invited.
He prefers to deal with me in much smaller groups.
I know that. Really, I understand.
I'm hurt, but I'm not letting on. Hell will freeze over first.
Fortunately he never reads my blog.
Savage Kitten is similar in some ways. I've heard about her friends, and she has introduced them to each other.
But I have not met many of her friends, ever. None in nearly ten years. And since we broke up as a couple, it is increasingly less likely that I ever will.
There are people in her life who at this point I know better than Christ, whom I wouldn't recognize on the street.
I don't really like dining alone. But at least I'm an excellent cook.
==========================================================================
NOTE: If you wish, you may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Friday, November 05, 2010
KIND TO HEDGEHOGS
Early in our relationship, Savage Kitten nicknamed me ‘Toad’. This was not in reference to my appearance, or to any negativity associated with the noble amphibian - we both like Toads and their cousins the frogs – but due to a perceived similarity between me and one of the characters in The Wind In The Willows.
No, I am not boastful or impertinent. Nor do I regularly fixate on a new obsession.
It was because of my driving. Something about which she had only heard.
MR. TOAD'S WILD RIDE
Specifically, she heard about how I crashed my car.
And also what happened to folks reckless enough to catch rides with me.
This was when she met some friends of mine, who proved anxious to let her know precisely what kind of man she had let herself in for. They went on at quite some inordinate length.
Possibly they were concerned for her safety - I will tolerantly credit them with that intent.
Damned lizards.
I have never seen myself as resembling mister Toad of Toad hall in any way at all.
For one thing, I am not short fat and dumpy. Nor do I puff myself up, or steal vehicles.
I am not a washerwoman, I am NEVER impertinent to constables.
THE WILD WOODS
Instead, I think of myself as being more like Mr. Badger.
Mr. Badger is the solitary type who can be relied on in a pinch, whether it is a pressing need for hot chocolate, and oatmeal porridge, OR a resolute whacking of weasels and stoats.
We all remember our first introduction to Mr. Badger, when Ratty and Mole were stuck in the snow and knocked loudly on his door:
'There was the noise of a bolt shot back, and the door opened a few inches, enough to show a long snout and a pair of sleepy blinking eyes.
"Now, the VERY next time this happens," said a gruff and suspicious voice, "I shall be exceedingly angry. Who is it THIS time, disturbing people on such a night? Speak up!" '
As soon as he sees who it is, the Badger turns into a warmhearted host:
' ... Badger summoned them to the table, where he had been busy laying a repast. They had felt pretty hungry before, but when they actually saw at last the supper that was spread for them, really it seemed only a question of what they should attack first where all was so attractive, and whether the other things would obligingly wait for them till they had time to give them attention. '
The generosity that Badger shows that night is by no means a fluke. Even hedgehogs can see right through his pretense at unsociability:
"And at last we happened up against Mr. Badger's back door, and made so bold as to knock, sir, for Mr. Badger he's a kind-hearted gentleman, as everyone knows ----- "
The Toad is not nearly so intrinsically loveable. And while he does live in a mansion, his digs seem far less warm and comfy. Toad Hall reflects a more self-indulgent, less broadminded type. His entire worldview places him and his pursuits of the moment at centre-stage. Even when no-one else caters to him, he caters to himself.
The Toad, as is abundantly clear in every escapade, is someone who doesn't quite get it.
Whereas the badger is a most admirable chap - rational, practical, self-possessed, and perspicacious. Contemplative. Reliable.
And significantly, per the illustrations, a pipe-smoker.
I don't provide oatmeal. Never did understand why some people like it.
But if you need a nice cup of hot chocolate in the middle of the night, I am definitely your badger.
No, I am not boastful or impertinent. Nor do I regularly fixate on a new obsession.
It was because of my driving. Something about which she had only heard.
MR. TOAD'S WILD RIDE
Specifically, she heard about how I crashed my car.
And also what happened to folks reckless enough to catch rides with me.
This was when she met some friends of mine, who proved anxious to let her know precisely what kind of man she had let herself in for. They went on at quite some inordinate length.
Possibly they were concerned for her safety - I will tolerantly credit them with that intent.
Damned lizards.
I have never seen myself as resembling mister Toad of Toad hall in any way at all.
For one thing, I am not short fat and dumpy. Nor do I puff myself up, or steal vehicles.
I am not a washerwoman, I am NEVER impertinent to constables.
THE WILD WOODS
Instead, I think of myself as being more like Mr. Badger.
Mr. Badger is the solitary type who can be relied on in a pinch, whether it is a pressing need for hot chocolate, and oatmeal porridge, OR a resolute whacking of weasels and stoats.
We all remember our first introduction to Mr. Badger, when Ratty and Mole were stuck in the snow and knocked loudly on his door:
'There was the noise of a bolt shot back, and the door opened a few inches, enough to show a long snout and a pair of sleepy blinking eyes.
"Now, the VERY next time this happens," said a gruff and suspicious voice, "I shall be exceedingly angry. Who is it THIS time, disturbing people on such a night? Speak up!" '
As soon as he sees who it is, the Badger turns into a warmhearted host:
' ... Badger summoned them to the table, where he had been busy laying a repast. They had felt pretty hungry before, but when they actually saw at last the supper that was spread for them, really it seemed only a question of what they should attack first where all was so attractive, and whether the other things would obligingly wait for them till they had time to give them attention. '
The generosity that Badger shows that night is by no means a fluke. Even hedgehogs can see right through his pretense at unsociability:
"And at last we happened up against Mr. Badger's back door, and made so bold as to knock, sir, for Mr. Badger he's a kind-hearted gentleman, as everyone knows ----- "
The Toad is not nearly so intrinsically loveable. And while he does live in a mansion, his digs seem far less warm and comfy. Toad Hall reflects a more self-indulgent, less broadminded type. His entire worldview places him and his pursuits of the moment at centre-stage. Even when no-one else caters to him, he caters to himself.
The Toad, as is abundantly clear in every escapade, is someone who doesn't quite get it.
Whereas the badger is a most admirable chap - rational, practical, self-possessed, and perspicacious. Contemplative. Reliable.
And significantly, per the illustrations, a pipe-smoker.
I don't provide oatmeal. Never did understand why some people like it.
But if you need a nice cup of hot chocolate in the middle of the night, I am definitely your badger.
Thursday, November 04, 2010
RECOMMENDED READING FOR YOUNG LADIES
Recently I have been told one of the most disappointing things I ever heard. And, typically, it spells 'female trouble'. Per the Amphibian, the entire feminine student body of Lowell High School is reading the Twilight saga. Good lord.
[The Amphibian is in a position to know, as he is in the book business. You may find some odd comments by him underneath posts on this blog. He is not slimy, and has a taste for Jameson.]
COME HERE, LITTLE GIRL, WOULD YOU LIKE A BOOK?
There I was, holding out Lowell High as a reservoir of keen young girlish minds - surely one of whom might be interested in a middle-aged pipe-smoking grumpus - when actually they've been rotting their brain cells with twaddle. Vampire twaddle.
How utterly disappointing.
Oh well, at least they're not obsessively watching movies set in New Zealand that feature short huggable young men who might be Irish, and big Maoris dressed as Orcs.
Still. Dark romantic vampire twaddle.
Girls, girls, girls!
Have you considered broadening your horizons?
Real authors, real books?
Permit me to make a few suggestions.
READING LIST
COLETTE
Claudine at School, and other novels featuring that heroine:
Not very shocking by our modern standards, yet deliciously sensual. A teenage French girl who discovers sex and passion, while her father revels in mollusks.
WILLIAM FAULKNER
The Sound and the Fury, Light in August, Absolom², Requiem for a Nun, et autres:
This writer is best known for Southern Fiction. Somewhat unjustly, that - although much of his work is set in Mississippi, he also wrote screenplays for Hollywood films, as well as numerous short stories and also some poems. Many of his most memorable characters display a stubborn brilliance, or a flawed persona. Compelling stuff.
NADINE GORDIMER
Burger's Daughter, The House Gun, and others:
Political, passionate, at times irritating, Gordimer's people illustrate the spectrum of South African damaged emotions. Keenly drawn characters, often wanting, often noble. Worthwhile material, but you might end up with an affection for whisky most unsuitable in a young woman after reading some of this stuff.
WYNDHAM LEWIS
The Apes of God, The Jews - Are They Human?, Tarr:
Painter, critic, author, and all-round unpleasant prick, Lewis managed to offend nearly everybody while writing biting satire. Probably the most important British author of the twentieth century, though his paintings are personally more appealing. A very deft hand with the English language.
There are some really depraved scenes in Tarr.
VLADIMIR NABOKOV
Lolita, Ada, Speak Memory, Pnin, Pale Fire, and others:
Nabokov was a master of bending the English language while twisting the reader's mind. Sexual escapades play a role in many of his works, either as a motivator or as an inconvenient but appreciated undercurrent. His characters are complex, his episodes compelling, and his descriptions refractive. Everything he wrote was autobiographical, in some works more than others.
MARY RENAULT
Greek Funeral Games, The Persian Boy, The Last of the Wine, The Charioteer, and others:
The world of Alexander comes to life marvelously in much of Mary Renault's writings, but not all of her writing is of the classical world. Fairly universal themes, and characters who have ... 'peccadilloes'. Yes, that's it, peccadilloes - a few of them fairly nasty.
PHILLIP ROTH
When She Was Good, Portnoy's Complaint, Sabbath's Theater, and others:
Subversive, complex, and neurotic. Especially do I recommend Sabbath's Theater for the young miss audience - it will open your eyes. Or repel you.
Either way, just imagine the book report you would write.
TENNESSEE WILLIAMS
Not a novelist, but a script writer. And what a script writer! Streetcar named Desire, Baby Doll, The Glass Menagerie, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Night of the Iguana, and others. You should be able to find the scripts at the library, as well as the movies. In particular, you should read and watch Baby Doll - the Catholic Legion of Decency tried to have it banned, out of a sense of concern with empty-headed teenage virgins everywhere. Or maybe it was the southern degeneracy that done it. Whatever.
It is, I have been told, "offensive to all Christian standards of decency and morality" - high praise indeed.
MARGUERITE YOURCENAR
Memoires of Hadrian, A Coin in Nine Hands, and others:
Marguerite Yourcenar's work reflects a keen knowledge of the ancient world and a sensitive observance of human foibles.
An animal rights activist, bisexual, and intensely literate.
All the authors mentioned should be easily found at a library, or can be purchased on-line. The works listed are appetizing, and will give you hours of pleasure.
And yes, I am interested in your intellectual development - please let me know your thoughts after you've read a bit.
I will be more than happy to suggest more books for you to read, or a suitable brand of whisky for introspective moments.
==========================================================================
NOTE: If you wish, you may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
[The Amphibian is in a position to know, as he is in the book business. You may find some odd comments by him underneath posts on this blog. He is not slimy, and has a taste for Jameson.]
COME HERE, LITTLE GIRL, WOULD YOU LIKE A BOOK?
There I was, holding out Lowell High as a reservoir of keen young girlish minds - surely one of whom might be interested in a middle-aged pipe-smoking grumpus - when actually they've been rotting their brain cells with twaddle. Vampire twaddle.
How utterly disappointing.
Oh well, at least they're not obsessively watching movies set in New Zealand that feature short huggable young men who might be Irish, and big Maoris dressed as Orcs.
Still. Dark romantic vampire twaddle.
Girls, girls, girls!
Have you considered broadening your horizons?
Real authors, real books?
Permit me to make a few suggestions.
READING LIST
COLETTE
Claudine at School, and other novels featuring that heroine:
Not very shocking by our modern standards, yet deliciously sensual. A teenage French girl who discovers sex and passion, while her father revels in mollusks.
WILLIAM FAULKNER
The Sound and the Fury, Light in August, Absolom², Requiem for a Nun, et autres:
This writer is best known for Southern Fiction. Somewhat unjustly, that - although much of his work is set in Mississippi, he also wrote screenplays for Hollywood films, as well as numerous short stories and also some poems. Many of his most memorable characters display a stubborn brilliance, or a flawed persona. Compelling stuff.
NADINE GORDIMER
Burger's Daughter, The House Gun, and others:
Political, passionate, at times irritating, Gordimer's people illustrate the spectrum of South African damaged emotions. Keenly drawn characters, often wanting, often noble. Worthwhile material, but you might end up with an affection for whisky most unsuitable in a young woman after reading some of this stuff.
WYNDHAM LEWIS
The Apes of God, The Jews - Are They Human?, Tarr:
Painter, critic, author, and all-round unpleasant prick, Lewis managed to offend nearly everybody while writing biting satire. Probably the most important British author of the twentieth century, though his paintings are personally more appealing. A very deft hand with the English language.
There are some really depraved scenes in Tarr.
VLADIMIR NABOKOV
Lolita, Ada, Speak Memory, Pnin, Pale Fire, and others:
Nabokov was a master of bending the English language while twisting the reader's mind. Sexual escapades play a role in many of his works, either as a motivator or as an inconvenient but appreciated undercurrent. His characters are complex, his episodes compelling, and his descriptions refractive. Everything he wrote was autobiographical, in some works more than others.
MARY RENAULT
Greek Funeral Games, The Persian Boy, The Last of the Wine, The Charioteer, and others:
The world of Alexander comes to life marvelously in much of Mary Renault's writings, but not all of her writing is of the classical world. Fairly universal themes, and characters who have ... 'peccadilloes'. Yes, that's it, peccadilloes - a few of them fairly nasty.
PHILLIP ROTH
When She Was Good, Portnoy's Complaint, Sabbath's Theater, and others:
Subversive, complex, and neurotic. Especially do I recommend Sabbath's Theater for the young miss audience - it will open your eyes. Or repel you.
Either way, just imagine the book report you would write.
TENNESSEE WILLIAMS
Not a novelist, but a script writer. And what a script writer! Streetcar named Desire, Baby Doll, The Glass Menagerie, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Night of the Iguana, and others. You should be able to find the scripts at the library, as well as the movies. In particular, you should read and watch Baby Doll - the Catholic Legion of Decency tried to have it banned, out of a sense of concern with empty-headed teenage virgins everywhere. Or maybe it was the southern degeneracy that done it. Whatever.
It is, I have been told, "offensive to all Christian standards of decency and morality" - high praise indeed.
MARGUERITE YOURCENAR
Memoires of Hadrian, A Coin in Nine Hands, and others:
Marguerite Yourcenar's work reflects a keen knowledge of the ancient world and a sensitive observance of human foibles.
An animal rights activist, bisexual, and intensely literate.
All the authors mentioned should be easily found at a library, or can be purchased on-line. The works listed are appetizing, and will give you hours of pleasure.
And yes, I am interested in your intellectual development - please let me know your thoughts after you've read a bit.
I will be more than happy to suggest more books for you to read, or a suitable brand of whisky for introspective moments.
==========================================================================
NOTE: If you wish, you may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
JING GWAT KAI - STEAMED CHICKEN
If I get home early tonight, I’ll make dinner. I feel like cooking. Besides, I’ve got a big ….
Bag ….
Of dried oysters!
You’re all excited. I can tell.
Actually, the problem is that some Chinatown ingredients are sold in minimum quantities that far exceed the needs of a normal two-person household. And seeing as Savage Kitten and I never eat together anymore, since we broke up, I seldom cook for more than one person. It's a quandary.
Perhaps you could move in? I promise the senior teddy bear won’t object (though the one-legged monkey might), as long as you are small, clean, and intelligent.
Savage Kitten probably won’t mind either, as you will undoubtedly improve my mental and moral state. Provided you’re small, clean, and intelligent.
Anyhow, big bag of dried oysters. Gotta use them somehow. Everything I’ve cooked in the past two weeks has, remarkably, included dried oysters.
Which is why this dish is chicken.
蒸滑雞
JING GWAT KAI - SLICK STEAMED CHICKEN
One pound of chicken, chunked large for chopstick grabbing.
Half a dozen big dried mushrooms (冬菇 dong gu).
Half a dozen dried oysters (蠔豉 ho si).
One clove garlic, smashed and minced.
One and a half TBS sherry.
One TBS soy sauce (豉油 si yau).
One TBS ginger juice.
1½ Tsp. cornstarch.
Shredded ginger, dark sesame oil (芝麻油 jee ma yau), minced scallion, sugar.
[You knew I was going to use dried oysters in this, didn't you?]
Soak the dried mushrooms and dried oysters for about forty five minutes in warmish water with a pinch of sugar. Rinse and drain. Add a drizzle of plain cooking oil and turn to coat. This maintains their integrity during the steaming that will follow.
Marinate chicken chunks with the soy sauce and sherry, plus the ginger juice, a generous pinch of sugar, and the cornstarch. Same length of time as the soaking of the dried ingredients. You might want to rub the cornstarch into the surface of the chicken chunks.
Combine the chicken, oysters, mushrooms and garlic in a broad shallow bowl, with a little of the marinade and a dash of the dry-ingredient soaking liquid. Place in the steamer, and steam for between twelve and fifteen minutes over fiercely boiling water. Remove carefully (hot!).
Drizzle a little sesame oil over for fragrance, strew the scallion and shredded ginger on top. Serve with rice and a vegetable.
A saucer of chili paste on the side, of course. I hope you like picant? You don't have to touch it if you don't want to.
乜嘢菜呀?
MAT-YE CHOI AH? - WHAT VEGS?
For the vegetable dish, I propose Chinese mustard green (油菜 yau choi) quick-blanched, stirfried with chicken fat and garlic in a hot wok, then splashed with chicken stock or sherry to flash-cook in the suddenly released steam.
["Oil vegetable" (油菜 yau choi) is the Cantonese name of a variety of brassica juncea. It is a very close relative of red-in-snow (雪里紅 suet lei hong), which is more often pickle-salted for use as a flavouring ingredient. Yau choi has stems of a pleasing apple-green, leaves slightly darker, and a crisply bitter taste. It is very good.]
NOTE: If you huiver at the idea of using dried oysters, you could substitute a few thick slices of Chinese sausage (臘腸 lap cheung). Or even something else. The key to this dish is the chicken - hence the name: 蒸滑雞.
It is slick (滑 gwat), because of the steaming, the cornstarch in the marinade, and the use of oil.
FURTHER NOTE: Ginger juice can be made by pressing chopped ginger in a garlic press, or mashing minced ginger with a little water in a mortar. The first method yields a stronger flavour than the second - adjust your quantities accordingly.
EVEN FURTHER NOTE: Really, I have far too much dried oyster for one man. Even the high quality Japanese dried oysters are quite cheap, especially when compared to some of the rarer Chinese dried ingredients. Dried oyster is a bargain. But I don't necessarily advise you buying any - you might not use them all in a reasonable amount of time. So tell you what: if you are small, clean, and intelligent, I'll give you some.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Bag ….
Of dried oysters!
You’re all excited. I can tell.
Actually, the problem is that some Chinatown ingredients are sold in minimum quantities that far exceed the needs of a normal two-person household. And seeing as Savage Kitten and I never eat together anymore, since we broke up, I seldom cook for more than one person. It's a quandary.
Perhaps you could move in? I promise the senior teddy bear won’t object (though the one-legged monkey might), as long as you are small, clean, and intelligent.
Savage Kitten probably won’t mind either, as you will undoubtedly improve my mental and moral state. Provided you’re small, clean, and intelligent.
Anyhow, big bag of dried oysters. Gotta use them somehow. Everything I’ve cooked in the past two weeks has, remarkably, included dried oysters.
Which is why this dish is chicken.
蒸滑雞
JING GWAT KAI - SLICK STEAMED CHICKEN
One pound of chicken, chunked large for chopstick grabbing.
Half a dozen big dried mushrooms (冬菇 dong gu).
Half a dozen dried oysters (蠔豉 ho si).
One clove garlic, smashed and minced.
One and a half TBS sherry.
One TBS soy sauce (豉油 si yau).
One TBS ginger juice.
1½ Tsp. cornstarch.
Shredded ginger, dark sesame oil (芝麻油 jee ma yau), minced scallion, sugar.
[You knew I was going to use dried oysters in this, didn't you?]
Soak the dried mushrooms and dried oysters for about forty five minutes in warmish water with a pinch of sugar. Rinse and drain. Add a drizzle of plain cooking oil and turn to coat. This maintains their integrity during the steaming that will follow.
Marinate chicken chunks with the soy sauce and sherry, plus the ginger juice, a generous pinch of sugar, and the cornstarch. Same length of time as the soaking of the dried ingredients. You might want to rub the cornstarch into the surface of the chicken chunks.
Combine the chicken, oysters, mushrooms and garlic in a broad shallow bowl, with a little of the marinade and a dash of the dry-ingredient soaking liquid. Place in the steamer, and steam for between twelve and fifteen minutes over fiercely boiling water. Remove carefully (hot!).
Drizzle a little sesame oil over for fragrance, strew the scallion and shredded ginger on top. Serve with rice and a vegetable.
A saucer of chili paste on the side, of course. I hope you like picant? You don't have to touch it if you don't want to.
乜嘢菜呀?
MAT-YE CHOI AH? - WHAT VEGS?
For the vegetable dish, I propose Chinese mustard green (油菜 yau choi) quick-blanched, stirfried with chicken fat and garlic in a hot wok, then splashed with chicken stock or sherry to flash-cook in the suddenly released steam.
["Oil vegetable" (油菜 yau choi) is the Cantonese name of a variety of brassica juncea. It is a very close relative of red-in-snow (雪里紅 suet lei hong), which is more often pickle-salted for use as a flavouring ingredient. Yau choi has stems of a pleasing apple-green, leaves slightly darker, and a crisply bitter taste. It is very good.]
NOTE: If you huiver at the idea of using dried oysters, you could substitute a few thick slices of Chinese sausage (臘腸 lap cheung). Or even something else. The key to this dish is the chicken - hence the name: 蒸滑雞.
It is slick (滑 gwat), because of the steaming, the cornstarch in the marinade, and the use of oil.
FURTHER NOTE: Ginger juice can be made by pressing chopped ginger in a garlic press, or mashing minced ginger with a little water in a mortar. The first method yields a stronger flavour than the second - adjust your quantities accordingly.
EVEN FURTHER NOTE: Really, I have far too much dried oyster for one man. Even the high quality Japanese dried oysters are quite cheap, especially when compared to some of the rarer Chinese dried ingredients. Dried oyster is a bargain. But I don't necessarily advise you buying any - you might not use them all in a reasonable amount of time. So tell you what: if you are small, clean, and intelligent, I'll give you some.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
CHAN HAI HO SIK!
Last night I stayed out late, watching the rather depressing election results and the inane reportorial blithering at friendly bars. When seeing the republicans moving into position to once again rape our country, alcohol is a blessing.
Yes, we’re hosed. But at least Palin’s trolls got wiped. Boruch Hashem.
On my way home I stopped by Bob’s Donuts to pick up some breakfast for my ex-girlfriend.
We still live together, and who says you can’t give each other food?
She went to Chinatown very early this morning to get something to eat. She didn’t see the French and the Old-Fashioned till she came into the kitchen at seven-thirty.
As I write this, I am lunching on a gaibow (雞包) that she brought me.
真係好食! Delicious!
Really gotta ask that girl where she went. It rocks. Great chicken bun!
And yes, once I know, I'll post the name and address here. Nobody who pays serious attention to Yelp! or similar reviewing sites reads my blog, so that probably won't cause a flood of suburbanites ruining it. It will be just us.
Savage Kitten will probably eat the Old-Fashioned or the French with her tea when she comes home this evening. Bob's Donuts also rocks. But you already knew that.
You were probably there with all the other depressed Democrats at four in the morning too.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Yes, we’re hosed. But at least Palin’s trolls got wiped. Boruch Hashem.
On my way home I stopped by Bob’s Donuts to pick up some breakfast for my ex-girlfriend.
We still live together, and who says you can’t give each other food?
She went to Chinatown very early this morning to get something to eat. She didn’t see the French and the Old-Fashioned till she came into the kitchen at seven-thirty.
As I write this, I am lunching on a gaibow (雞包) that she brought me.
真係好食! Delicious!
Really gotta ask that girl where she went. It rocks. Great chicken bun!
And yes, once I know, I'll post the name and address here. Nobody who pays serious attention to Yelp! or similar reviewing sites reads my blog, so that probably won't cause a flood of suburbanites ruining it. It will be just us.
Savage Kitten will probably eat the Old-Fashioned or the French with her tea when she comes home this evening. Bob's Donuts also rocks. But you already knew that.
You were probably there with all the other depressed Democrats at four in the morning too.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, November 02, 2010
DEALING WITH THE HEATHENS
My roommate and erstwhile significant other, Savage Kitten, tends to define her worth by how much she contributes. Consequently she is involved with a number of non-profits and their regularly scheduled events as a volunteer.
Not being particularly sociable (the proper description in her case is ‘murderously inclined’), she derives satisfaction from the work done, not from the enforced company of other people.
She likes humans as an abstract concept, she just isn’t enamoured of them in the concrete.
A while back she participated in a food-donation related charitable event. To her intense displeasure, it turned out to be a multi-denominational thing, involving not only her least unfavourite Christian sect (“the frozen chosen”), but also some dipwad cottonwool and butterflies everything goes branch of Nazarene mishegos.
And a visiting sectarian priest who insisted that everyone join hands and pray. Everyone. No exceptions.
Lots of feel-good Jesus crap, plus bushwa about positivity, impactfulness, spirituality, children, ancestors, and angelic forces.
She came back that afternoon spitting mad. And told me about it in great and furious detail.
I sympathized.
She now realizes she should have told the collared knave that as a heathen she does not wish to take part in his heretic rituals, the idolatrous practices of the glow-in-the-dark “natives” make her barf, avodah zara and all that, and the only so-called ‘deity’ she’ll respect is her direct ancestor the Chinese god of war, loyalties, traders, cops, gamblers, and prostitutes. As well as taxmen and accountants. No exceptions.
That might not be such a bad idea........., but it could be even better to tell him that the participation of an unbeliever makes his whole ridiculously inclusive withcraftery little more than a farce.
Invalidates every one’s prayerful mumbling. Renders it all batel. Puts a curse on the proceedings. Bad juju. Boo.
It might scare the bugger into shutting his sacred trap.
Her ranting reminded me of a lovely passage that I just had to look up.
And once uplooked, I needs must share it.
DALEM KWEITAN BUKIT
Mana len na daon kunit? Wara lang kata, len dari Tamadambo ka utara, djang daon kunit ite. Tathapi ti dapet; siapa lite Si Hong Pande Tjawong ri batang itui? Si Ngaya Ngupawa, Bang Karbao Bule Puna, ti taralite djuga. Ki tao na Dambo-Radja, neang gumaro nente Djangla’ak, ngaong-ngaong sehi gaeng-ura sa duwa tapi na len sahadja. Djuris sametek kayo nila-bugao, tan kuwang pesti tamo Entjik Kanda-Gilap, atawa angin tjuok. Oro sarao dene – yiki mabanye, mamanuwa kangtitek; banta wae na sunge-daga libate tja.
Translation: "Where is the road to immortal realms? Some say the trail from Tamadambo to the North is indeed that road. But this is not possible; who has seen the guide to the supernatural realms there? The Protectress, and (her spirit animal the) Dun Waterbufallo, neither are noted on that path either. The people of the Forest-King, arrogant against the settled populations, bellow from both sides of the path only. The distant line of trees is blue and golden, and you will certainly encounter Lord Glittering Lumps, or the ferocious seasonal winds. There is no other way – the tribals are many, civilized persons perilously few; it is better to batter the river of blood."
Paraphrasis: 'Those who postulate a heavenly reward or supernatural benefits tend not to know what the heck they’re talking about. Their enchanted lands probably don’t exist, and are impossible to attain. However thieves and conmen are plentiful if you join their cults, and if you chase fantasies you’ll probably come a cropper. Just act like a rational human and you’ll be more than special. The real world is hard enough to deal with without pursuing pipe-dreams.'
GLOSSARY
Kweitan bukit: montane areas where fields are cleared by slash-and-burn method, hence the hinterlands and the unstable areas; dalem kweitan bukit – in the undefined realms.
Len na daon kunit: the road of yellow leaves; the mysterious path into the supernatural dimensions, where Si Hong Pande Tjawong guides the traveller.
Tamadambo: the area of over-arching forest. Either inland from the coast in the steep valleys, OR where the mangroves shade the tidal swamps. The civilized lands.
Si Hong Pande Tjawong: The master smith who built the natural world. Si: prefix to person names. Hong: masculine spirit, term of address for male supernaturals. Pande: smith – in many South-East Asian cultures, the smith is halfway twixt magician and priest. Tjawong: stone, rock depression; non-living thing.
Si Ngaya Ngupawa: The flirting maiden who protects the traveler. Ngaya: Fairy maiden, demigoddess; term of address for female supernaturals.
Bang Karbao Bule: Brother Albino Buffalo. Bang: brother. Bule: Albino. Dun-coloured ('karbao bule' is also a sneering term for Dutchmen). Bang Karbao Bule is the companion of Si Ngaya Ngupaya.
Dambo-Radja: Forest-King; tribal paramount chief of antiquity among the barbarians. Tao na Dambo-Radja: the People of the Forest-King; thugs and criminals along the roads, robbers, thieves.
Djangla’ak: those areas (and populations) before the jungle, the settled lands. La’ak: within the net, up from the weir, landwards from the reef, before the forest edge, inside the boundaries; pacified, protected.
Ngaong-ngaong: the bellowing of cattle, the howling of wild beast.
Gaeng-ura: ‘crimson-gullet’; howler monkeys and unreconstructed savages.
Djuris: where distant mountains meet the sky.
Nila-bugao: blue and gold; the smoky hue of distant forests, the far glimmer of light reflected in the shimmering heat. “Djuris sametek kayo nila-bugao” – the distances are vast and it is a long way away from human settlement.
Entjik Kanda-Gilap: Lord Glittering Lumps, another name for the Red Crow (Entjik Wawak-Ura), a warlord spirit of the savage tribes. Entjik: lord, chevalier, gentleman. Kanda: lump, section, portion. Gilap: glitter, glimmer, flash of light. Crows are attracted to glittery things, hence the term ‘petiyak wawak’ (crow-box) for tzedaka containers and collection bowls – spare change is infinitely appealing.
Angin-tjuok: typhoon winds. Angin: wind. Tjuok: windblast, gale force, storm howl; to vomit. Sarao: route. Yiki: sneering term for savages and uncivilized tribes. Mamanuwa: those having human (civilized) characteristics, from Sanscrit-derived ‘manuwa’ – human.
Sunge-daga: blood-river. Not, as might be supposed, a real stream anywhere, but the course of human existence and the forces of society, imagined as a treacherous torrent that can swamp the unwary.
Basically, the passage above is one long supercilious sneer at religious types and other luftmenshen.
Well, that’s enough about foreign superstitions for the day. Tune in tomorrow for more gibbering.
==========================================================================
NOTE: If you wish, you may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Not being particularly sociable (the proper description in her case is ‘murderously inclined’), she derives satisfaction from the work done, not from the enforced company of other people.
She likes humans as an abstract concept, she just isn’t enamoured of them in the concrete.
A while back she participated in a food-donation related charitable event. To her intense displeasure, it turned out to be a multi-denominational thing, involving not only her least unfavourite Christian sect (“the frozen chosen”), but also some dipwad cottonwool and butterflies everything goes branch of Nazarene mishegos.
And a visiting sectarian priest who insisted that everyone join hands and pray. Everyone. No exceptions.
Lots of feel-good Jesus crap, plus bushwa about positivity, impactfulness, spirituality, children, ancestors, and angelic forces.
She came back that afternoon spitting mad. And told me about it in great and furious detail.
I sympathized.
She now realizes she should have told the collared knave that as a heathen she does not wish to take part in his heretic rituals, the idolatrous practices of the glow-in-the-dark “natives” make her barf, avodah zara and all that, and the only so-called ‘deity’ she’ll respect is her direct ancestor the Chinese god of war, loyalties, traders, cops, gamblers, and prostitutes. As well as taxmen and accountants. No exceptions.
That might not be such a bad idea........., but it could be even better to tell him that the participation of an unbeliever makes his whole ridiculously inclusive withcraftery little more than a farce.
Invalidates every one’s prayerful mumbling. Renders it all batel. Puts a curse on the proceedings. Bad juju. Boo.
It might scare the bugger into shutting his sacred trap.
Her ranting reminded me of a lovely passage that I just had to look up.
And once uplooked, I needs must share it.
DALEM KWEITAN BUKIT
Mana len na daon kunit? Wara lang kata, len dari Tamadambo ka utara, djang daon kunit ite. Tathapi ti dapet; siapa lite Si Hong Pande Tjawong ri batang itui? Si Ngaya Ngupawa, Bang Karbao Bule Puna, ti taralite djuga. Ki tao na Dambo-Radja, neang gumaro nente Djangla’ak, ngaong-ngaong sehi gaeng-ura sa duwa tapi na len sahadja. Djuris sametek kayo nila-bugao, tan kuwang pesti tamo Entjik Kanda-Gilap, atawa angin tjuok. Oro sarao dene – yiki mabanye, mamanuwa kangtitek; banta wae na sunge-daga libate tja.
Translation: "Where is the road to immortal realms? Some say the trail from Tamadambo to the North is indeed that road. But this is not possible; who has seen the guide to the supernatural realms there? The Protectress, and (her spirit animal the) Dun Waterbufallo, neither are noted on that path either. The people of the Forest-King, arrogant against the settled populations, bellow from both sides of the path only. The distant line of trees is blue and golden, and you will certainly encounter Lord Glittering Lumps, or the ferocious seasonal winds. There is no other way – the tribals are many, civilized persons perilously few; it is better to batter the river of blood."
Paraphrasis: 'Those who postulate a heavenly reward or supernatural benefits tend not to know what the heck they’re talking about. Their enchanted lands probably don’t exist, and are impossible to attain. However thieves and conmen are plentiful if you join their cults, and if you chase fantasies you’ll probably come a cropper. Just act like a rational human and you’ll be more than special. The real world is hard enough to deal with without pursuing pipe-dreams.'
GLOSSARY
Kweitan bukit: montane areas where fields are cleared by slash-and-burn method, hence the hinterlands and the unstable areas; dalem kweitan bukit – in the undefined realms.
Len na daon kunit: the road of yellow leaves; the mysterious path into the supernatural dimensions, where Si Hong Pande Tjawong guides the traveller.
Tamadambo: the area of over-arching forest. Either inland from the coast in the steep valleys, OR where the mangroves shade the tidal swamps. The civilized lands.
Si Hong Pande Tjawong: The master smith who built the natural world. Si: prefix to person names. Hong: masculine spirit, term of address for male supernaturals. Pande: smith – in many South-East Asian cultures, the smith is halfway twixt magician and priest. Tjawong: stone, rock depression; non-living thing.
Si Ngaya Ngupawa: The flirting maiden who protects the traveler. Ngaya: Fairy maiden, demigoddess; term of address for female supernaturals.
Bang Karbao Bule: Brother Albino Buffalo. Bang: brother. Bule: Albino. Dun-coloured ('karbao bule' is also a sneering term for Dutchmen). Bang Karbao Bule is the companion of Si Ngaya Ngupaya.
Dambo-Radja: Forest-King; tribal paramount chief of antiquity among the barbarians. Tao na Dambo-Radja: the People of the Forest-King; thugs and criminals along the roads, robbers, thieves.
Djangla’ak: those areas (and populations) before the jungle, the settled lands. La’ak: within the net, up from the weir, landwards from the reef, before the forest edge, inside the boundaries; pacified, protected.
Ngaong-ngaong: the bellowing of cattle, the howling of wild beast.
Gaeng-ura: ‘crimson-gullet’; howler monkeys and unreconstructed savages.
Djuris: where distant mountains meet the sky.
Nila-bugao: blue and gold; the smoky hue of distant forests, the far glimmer of light reflected in the shimmering heat. “Djuris sametek kayo nila-bugao” – the distances are vast and it is a long way away from human settlement.
Entjik Kanda-Gilap: Lord Glittering Lumps, another name for the Red Crow (Entjik Wawak-Ura), a warlord spirit of the savage tribes. Entjik: lord, chevalier, gentleman. Kanda: lump, section, portion. Gilap: glitter, glimmer, flash of light. Crows are attracted to glittery things, hence the term ‘petiyak wawak’ (crow-box) for tzedaka containers and collection bowls – spare change is infinitely appealing.
Angin-tjuok: typhoon winds. Angin: wind. Tjuok: windblast, gale force, storm howl; to vomit. Sarao: route. Yiki: sneering term for savages and uncivilized tribes. Mamanuwa: those having human (civilized) characteristics, from Sanscrit-derived ‘manuwa’ – human.
Sunge-daga: blood-river. Not, as might be supposed, a real stream anywhere, but the course of human existence and the forces of society, imagined as a treacherous torrent that can swamp the unwary.
Basically, the passage above is one long supercilious sneer at religious types and other luftmenshen.
Well, that’s enough about foreign superstitions for the day. Tune in tomorrow for more gibbering.
==========================================================================
NOTE: If you wish, you may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Monday, November 01, 2010
GRETTA DUISENBERG - HOLLAND'S FOREMOST ANTISEMITE
Notorious Dutch anti-Semite Gretta Duisenberg is suing Elsevier magazine and author Afshin Ellian for calling her an anti-Semite. Basically, the noted anti-Semitic harpy Duisenberg is upset that there is an unpleasant name for her type.
We sympathise deeply with anti-Semitic Gretta. Life is so unfair, isn't it? Especially to despised minorities like anti-Semites, racists, bigots, cockroaches ........
Anyhooooo.
Per the Telegraaf Newspaper:
"Duisenberg doet aangifte tegen Elsevier
AMSTERDAM - Gretta Duisenberg heeft maandag aangifte gedaan bij de politie in Amsterdam tegen weekblad Elsevier en columnist Afshin Ellian wegens belediging en smaad. Zowel in een recent artikel in het weekblad als op het Elsevier-weblog van de columnist is zij antisemiet genoemd. Dat meldde de pro-Palestinagroep Stop de Bezetting, waarvan Duisenberg voorzitter is. "
[Translation: Duisenberg files complaint against Elsevier.
Amsterdam - Gretta Duisenberg on Monday files a complaint with the Amsterdam Police against weekly magazine Elsevier and columnist Afshin Ellian for 'insult and libel'. In both a recent article in the weekly and in the Elsevier-weblog of the columnist she was called an anti-Semite. This per the pro-Palestine group 'Stop the Occupation, of which Duisenberg is the chairman.]
SOURCE:
http://www.telegraaf.nl/binnenland/8092909/__Aangifte_Duisen-berg_tegen_Elsevier__.html?p=14,1
"Volgens een woordvoerder van de organisatie is de bedoeling van de aangifte breder. Duisenberg wil dat er een eind komt aan het gegooi met modder in haar richting door sommige media. „Dat gebeurt al jaren maar ze heeft er nu genoeg van. Het debat voeren over de kwestie Israël-Palestina wil ze wel, maar dan wel binnen grenzen.” "
[Translation: According to a spokesperson of the organization, the purpose of the complaint is actually broader - Duisenberg wishes that there should be an end to the slinging of mud in her direction. "That has been happening for years but she has had enough. She is willing to pursue the discourse regarding the issue of Israel-Palestine, but only within limits"]
"Hoofdredacteur Arendo Joustra van Elsevier zei in een reactie: „Wij wachten het rustig af”."
[Translation: Chief editor Arendo Joustra of Elsevier said in a response: "we calmly await".]
GRETTA DUISENBERG: ANTI-SEMITIC ARCHTYPE
Like many Europeans, the widow Duisenberg adheres to the neo-Marxist narrative of Palestinians as innocent victims, and Jews as cruel subhumans. This is the acceptable modern-day version of traditional anti-Semitism, reformulated in a dialectic that echoes ancient tropes but does not disturb today's world-citizens, for whom the fond image of helpless non-European victims of American imperialism and the daemonic Jews exercises an infinite attraction.
To be an anti-Semite is traditionally European, but in modern Europe one has to disguise it with the proper intellectual and politically correct terminology.
An upstanding member of the Dutch upper-class, Gretta Duisenberg could not possibly be so crude as to spew tired old clichés - instead, she formulates her hatred and bigotry into politely phrased brutalism.
As an activist for the more rabid element among the Dutch anti-Israel fringe, Gretta Duisenberg often seemed to take delight in offending and insulting. Her notorious statement that she wished six million signatures for her petition against the occupation was widely seen as a sneering reference to the holocaust.
Among her ideas is one she seldom tires of expressing, namely that a Jewish cabal controls the US government and influences policy - in her own words: "de puissant rijke joden in Amerika zijn die Israël in stand houden, waardoor ze in Israël de Palestijnen kunnen onderdrukken" (the powerful rich Jews in America that maintain Israel, whereby they can in Israel oppress the Palestinians); "de rijke Joodse lobby in Amerika" (the rich Jewish lobby in America).
Such statements are quite common in Europe, where many people grasp neither that they are offensive, nor that they are a traditional trope. The belief that rich Jews direct international politics should probably be considered part and parcel of European Culture by now, much like xenophobia and soccer riots.
One of Gretta's more eccentric statements was physiognomical:
"Israëli's liegen altijd. Dat zie je aan die koppen. Schoften zijn het" (Israelis always lie. You can see that from their heads. They're brutes).
There are far too many anti-Semitic utterances of hers to list here, as she's a tireless hate-speechifier and a publicity-whore of no mean aptitude.
I encourage you to research her on the internet - and if you read Dutch, you should probably also read Afshin Ellian in Elsevier magazine:
Weblog Afshin Ellian
It is not surprising that such a poisonous partisan of Hamas as Gretta Duisenberg is also a very warm friend of former Dutch prime-minister Dries van Agt, a clench-arsed bigot of a profoundly old-fashioned and pan-European hue.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
We sympathise deeply with anti-Semitic Gretta. Life is so unfair, isn't it? Especially to despised minorities like anti-Semites, racists, bigots, cockroaches ........
Anyhooooo.
Per the Telegraaf Newspaper:
"Duisenberg doet aangifte tegen Elsevier
AMSTERDAM - Gretta Duisenberg heeft maandag aangifte gedaan bij de politie in Amsterdam tegen weekblad Elsevier en columnist Afshin Ellian wegens belediging en smaad. Zowel in een recent artikel in het weekblad als op het Elsevier-weblog van de columnist is zij antisemiet genoemd. Dat meldde de pro-Palestinagroep Stop de Bezetting, waarvan Duisenberg voorzitter is. "
[Translation: Duisenberg files complaint against Elsevier.
Amsterdam - Gretta Duisenberg on Monday files a complaint with the Amsterdam Police against weekly magazine Elsevier and columnist Afshin Ellian for 'insult and libel'. In both a recent article in the weekly and in the Elsevier-weblog of the columnist she was called an anti-Semite. This per the pro-Palestine group 'Stop the Occupation, of which Duisenberg is the chairman.]
SOURCE:
http://www.telegraaf.nl/binnenland/8092909/__Aangifte_Duisen-berg_tegen_Elsevier__.html?p=14,1
"Volgens een woordvoerder van de organisatie is de bedoeling van de aangifte breder. Duisenberg wil dat er een eind komt aan het gegooi met modder in haar richting door sommige media. „Dat gebeurt al jaren maar ze heeft er nu genoeg van. Het debat voeren over de kwestie Israël-Palestina wil ze wel, maar dan wel binnen grenzen.” "
[Translation: According to a spokesperson of the organization, the purpose of the complaint is actually broader - Duisenberg wishes that there should be an end to the slinging of mud in her direction. "That has been happening for years but she has had enough. She is willing to pursue the discourse regarding the issue of Israel-Palestine, but only within limits"]
"Hoofdredacteur Arendo Joustra van Elsevier zei in een reactie: „Wij wachten het rustig af”."
[Translation: Chief editor Arendo Joustra of Elsevier said in a response: "we calmly await".]
GRETTA DUISENBERG: ANTI-SEMITIC ARCHTYPE
Like many Europeans, the widow Duisenberg adheres to the neo-Marxist narrative of Palestinians as innocent victims, and Jews as cruel subhumans. This is the acceptable modern-day version of traditional anti-Semitism, reformulated in a dialectic that echoes ancient tropes but does not disturb today's world-citizens, for whom the fond image of helpless non-European victims of American imperialism and the daemonic Jews exercises an infinite attraction.
To be an anti-Semite is traditionally European, but in modern Europe one has to disguise it with the proper intellectual and politically correct terminology.
An upstanding member of the Dutch upper-class, Gretta Duisenberg could not possibly be so crude as to spew tired old clichés - instead, she formulates her hatred and bigotry into politely phrased brutalism.
As an activist for the more rabid element among the Dutch anti-Israel fringe, Gretta Duisenberg often seemed to take delight in offending and insulting. Her notorious statement that she wished six million signatures for her petition against the occupation was widely seen as a sneering reference to the holocaust.
Among her ideas is one she seldom tires of expressing, namely that a Jewish cabal controls the US government and influences policy - in her own words: "de puissant rijke joden in Amerika zijn die Israël in stand houden, waardoor ze in Israël de Palestijnen kunnen onderdrukken" (the powerful rich Jews in America that maintain Israel, whereby they can in Israel oppress the Palestinians); "de rijke Joodse lobby in Amerika" (the rich Jewish lobby in America).
Such statements are quite common in Europe, where many people grasp neither that they are offensive, nor that they are a traditional trope. The belief that rich Jews direct international politics should probably be considered part and parcel of European Culture by now, much like xenophobia and soccer riots.
One of Gretta's more eccentric statements was physiognomical:
"Israëli's liegen altijd. Dat zie je aan die koppen. Schoften zijn het" (Israelis always lie. You can see that from their heads. They're brutes).
There are far too many anti-Semitic utterances of hers to list here, as she's a tireless hate-speechifier and a publicity-whore of no mean aptitude.
I encourage you to research her on the internet - and if you read Dutch, you should probably also read Afshin Ellian in Elsevier magazine:
Weblog Afshin Ellian
It is not surprising that such a poisonous partisan of Hamas as Gretta Duisenberg is also a very warm friend of former Dutch prime-minister Dries van Agt, a clench-arsed bigot of a profoundly old-fashioned and pan-European hue.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
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GRITS AND TOFU
Like most Americans, I have a list of people who should be peacefully retired from public service and thereafter kept away from their desks,...
