Two years ago, on a post about a person whose eccentric life-style and clothing choices were mildly disturbing, a reader posted the comment: "You have any even more peculiar relationship with breasts than most men."
This morning a fond friend on the other side of the great American hinterland posted a video-link to Lindsay Pelas running in slow motion.
Lindsay Pelas, whom I had never heard of, is endowed.
I got motion sick watching, within the minute.
Never knew a tee-shirt could do that.
I've never actually thought about it, but none of the women I know are that way. No, you may rest assured that I shall not now launch into an in-depth disquisition detailing any or all of them and what their dimensions might be. Primarily because that would mean forcing my mind to indiscreetly go over that terrain in detail and plumb depths of memory best left unexposed, secondarily because those are not the salient characteristics I remember best.
I actually do not have a relationship with breasts; haven't for a while.
The first thing I notice about a woman is her face.
Is it on eye-level, or somewhat below?
Does it look intelligent?
Is it pretty?
Intelligent faces are usually also pretty. Women with lively minds have faces which are intriguing and expressive even when they're trying to look uber-innocent. A brainiac cannot long keep her face from reflecting that she just did something incredibly disruptive to public harmony, or stole the entire bowl of salmon and cream when nobody was watching.
"Do you know what happened that caused the demise of the person whose remains were found in the dustbin?"
"No."
Yet her face will likely reveal "of course I do! The dumb shmo was raiding my neighbor's caviar locker, and wouldn't drop the spoon. So I hit him over the head with a two-by-four and dumped the body down the garbage chute!"
Don't ask why she was near the locker.
She had her reasons.
The astute guardian of law and order, if he's looking into her eyes, would easily discern this. Though he might reject his finding, and refuse to mention it in his subsequent report. Possibly because he wishes to ask her out for cocktails, or she's using a form of mind-control over him.
Nice women have that effect.
[Note to the wise: never live next to someone who has a caviar locker. It's far too exciting, there will be strange sounds in the night.]
I mention all of this because that post from two years ago, which elicited the remark about peculiar relations with breasts, mentioned brassieres. And the visual linked in today's comment made me realize that, in fact, I know next to nothing about brassieres or other garments supportive of the female mammary.
As the line underneath many Talmudic discussions says 'tzarich iyun': further investigation is required.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Monday, March 16, 2015
Sunday, March 15, 2015
OF COURSE EVERYBODY WANTS THEM!
Other than Kermit the Frog (科米蛙 'kēmǐwā'; 'fo mai waa' ), the most endearing character on Sesame Street (芝麻街 'zhīma jiē'; 'ji maa gai') was, in my opinion, Cookie Monster (甜餅怪 'tián bǐng guài'; 'tim beng gwaai').
There was always something charming and lovable about his single-mindedness.
Zeal. Sincerity. Devotion.
我要餅乾！
ME WANT COOKIE!
Something I saw on Facebook reminded me of one of my favourite songs. Yes, one of the first things I did upon joining Facebook was click "like" on Cookie Monster's profile. Since then, he keeps me abreast of everything current in the world of delicious food obsessions.
He is a very popular 'public figure'.
Fortuitously I discovered a sing-along karaoke version.
Of his song.
C IS FOR COOKIE!
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ye8mB6VsUHw.]
There are TWO karaoke joints in my life. One did not used to be a karaoke joint -- my frequency there was established when it was still a clean sober bar rather than a hole for both the incorrigible owner and visiting Marketing Departments to get blotto -- and the other, which I now visit only when the mood sporadically strikes, was where the musical regulars of a piano bar which closed down bailed out to. Very few of the elderly ponces who liked show tunes still go there, these past few years it has catered largely to young whitish marketing types.
The first mentioned place also has a large number of Chinese customers, Cantonese-speaking salt of the earth. I can fondly imagine some of them requesting the song above just to piss the Marketing majors off, and singing along happily. In between slamming dice-cups and telling ribald jokes.
Then sending someone out for fried noodles.
Or soy chicken over rice.
They should send out for cookies.
Honestly. Such happy food.
Chocolate chip.
Oatmeal.
Ngo yiu beng-gon!
當然吖！大家都要餅乾！
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
There was always something charming and lovable about his single-mindedness.
Zeal. Sincerity. Devotion.
我要餅乾！
ME WANT COOKIE!
Something I saw on Facebook reminded me of one of my favourite songs. Yes, one of the first things I did upon joining Facebook was click "like" on Cookie Monster's profile. Since then, he keeps me abreast of everything current in the world of delicious food obsessions.
He is a very popular 'public figure'.
Fortuitously I discovered a sing-along karaoke version.
Of his song.
C IS FOR COOKIE!
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ye8mB6VsUHw.]
There are TWO karaoke joints in my life. One did not used to be a karaoke joint -- my frequency there was established when it was still a clean sober bar rather than a hole for both the incorrigible owner and visiting Marketing Departments to get blotto -- and the other, which I now visit only when the mood sporadically strikes, was where the musical regulars of a piano bar which closed down bailed out to. Very few of the elderly ponces who liked show tunes still go there, these past few years it has catered largely to young whitish marketing types.
The first mentioned place also has a large number of Chinese customers, Cantonese-speaking salt of the earth. I can fondly imagine some of them requesting the song above just to piss the Marketing majors off, and singing along happily. In between slamming dice-cups and telling ribald jokes.
Then sending someone out for fried noodles.
Or soy chicken over rice.
They should send out for cookies.
Honestly. Such happy food.
Chocolate chip.
Oatmeal.
Ngo yiu beng-gon!
當然吖！大家都要餅乾！
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
MORE LINKS THAN SAUSAGE
In reaction to yesterday evening's account of the pipe-club's monthly meeting, some friendly spam-bot 'gifted' me with a comment which I have not cleared for publication. However, I totally approve of it.
It represents some of the finest writing I have ever seen.
Perhaps I should mention that, unlike most men of my age, I do not pursue every slice of tail that crosses my path. Consequently my existence is uncomplicated, and frightfully clean.
The spam-bot, however, presumes that I have all the manners and morals of a typical frat-boy, recently graduated and moved to San Francisco, with only one thing on his filthy mind.
Two things.
Two full paragraphs about breasts. Affectionately referred to as "titties". Frat-boys, as is well known, are primarily interested in BIG titties. Enormous titties. Humongous titties. Titties that would make a Texan blush. Breastessessies of the general shape and dimension of watermelons, all floobily-woobily and free-flopping.
Gigantic, ginormous, and ginosauric.
The spam-bot waxed lyrical.
Epic, and poetic.
With links.
Obviously I shall NOT post any of the links. I have no interest in furthering the degenerate escapades of rancid frat-boys -- although I do have a keen and as yet steadfastly intellectual-only fascination with "escapades" -- and the world is already far too full of big breasts as it is. As I understand it, every bleached-out all-American cow-girl from the Alleghenies to the Rockies represents the type of mammary-overkill that characterized the primitive cannibalistic mothergods of Antiquity, rather than the sylph-like or elfin ideal of Audrey Hepburn.
Why do all the "hottest" shiksas look like drag queens?
Far too many bovine farmbelt cheerleaders.
Not enough librarians.
AFTERTHOUGHT
Escapade -- doesn't that word sound like fun?
So evocative, so daring!
Escapade!
Quite unlike the sad and appalling reality of beer-swilling business majors pursuing women who are handicapped above the navel.
Hippopotami, grunting and splashing.
Lumbering rhinoceri.
Capybara.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
It represents some of the finest writing I have ever seen.
Perhaps I should mention that, unlike most men of my age, I do not pursue every slice of tail that crosses my path. Consequently my existence is uncomplicated, and frightfully clean.
The spam-bot, however, presumes that I have all the manners and morals of a typical frat-boy, recently graduated and moved to San Francisco, with only one thing on his filthy mind.
Two things.
Two full paragraphs about breasts. Affectionately referred to as "titties". Frat-boys, as is well known, are primarily interested in BIG titties. Enormous titties. Humongous titties. Titties that would make a Texan blush. Breastessessies of the general shape and dimension of watermelons, all floobily-woobily and free-flopping.
Gigantic, ginormous, and ginosauric.
The spam-bot waxed lyrical.
Epic, and poetic.
With links.
Obviously I shall NOT post any of the links. I have no interest in furthering the degenerate escapades of rancid frat-boys -- although I do have a keen and as yet steadfastly intellectual-only fascination with "escapades" -- and the world is already far too full of big breasts as it is. As I understand it, every bleached-out all-American cow-girl from the Alleghenies to the Rockies represents the type of mammary-overkill that characterized the primitive cannibalistic mothergods of Antiquity, rather than the sylph-like or elfin ideal of Audrey Hepburn.
Why do all the "hottest" shiksas look like drag queens?
Far too many bovine farmbelt cheerleaders.
Not enough librarians.
AFTERTHOUGHT
Escapade -- doesn't that word sound like fun?
So evocative, so daring!
Escapade!
Quite unlike the sad and appalling reality of beer-swilling business majors pursuing women who are handicapped above the navel.
Hippopotami, grunting and splashing.
Lumbering rhinoceri.
Capybara.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Saturday, March 14, 2015
WE GAD ABOUT EATING LOTUSES!
What happens when you put a dozen pipe smokers in one room with several tins of tobacco and a few bottles of port? Is it 'degeneracy'? Profligacy? Riotous stinky dancing? Loud squeals and laughter?
To find out, we did just that. It was the monthly meeting of the Golden Gate Pipe Club, over at our customary location in Marin.
Average age: somewhere between thirty and fifty, although there are a few gentlemen who have already retired.
Average height: somewhere between short and large.
Average facial hair: not so much.
THE PERFECT PIPE SMOKER
Please consider me the absolute paradigm of Bay Area pipesmoker, in that I am rakish for my years, of average height, and without overly much silver in my head hair or beard. And of a very temperate world-view.
It's a status for which the competition has vanished.
The FORMER absolute paradigm moved to Boston half a year ago to be one with the snow and ice of his native soil. It was a move that saddened all of us at the time, as we could not figure out what possessed him. Boston, for chrissakes! Could just as well be Philly, Atlantic City, or Detroit!
We understand those cities are also back east.
There are snow weasels there.
He writes:
"Record amounts of snow fell in the region with over 6 feet here, treacherous ice and frigid temperatures as low as minus 11F or minus 24C (before windchill factor). Every weekend brought a fresh blizzard and at one stage the snow was falling faster than the ploughs could remove it."
[CUT]
"Crawling about on icy pitched roofs is obviously dangerous and shoveling heavy snow for hours is back-breaking labour. I would have hired a strapping yokel to do it, but they were already well engaged."
[CUT]
"Gaping holes were left on the third floor, now open to the cold, the snow and the rain."
There was more, mostly dealing with carpentry, pervasive wood rot, giant seagulls, abandoned shopping carts, and big heaps of white crap that fell from the sky. Perhaps the most salient data he shared was an angry squawk, as follows:
"Real men do not gad about naked whilst smoking Clan and admiring themselves in the mirror. Real men shovel snow several feet deep. Real men hack away at ice dams and icicles bigger than they are. Real mean carry several cords of firewood in howling blizzards and subzero temperatures. Real men do not live in whingeing, self-absorbed, double soy milk latte sipping, tofu braising, earth mother channeling San Francisco."
Obviously the primitive life-style is starting to get to him.
He also sent several photos of himself posing in the great outdoors outside his kitchen door wearing what I take to be a patent leather body suit.
No nude gadding at all, the poor man.
Alack. Alas.
Obviously I sympathize. And hasten to inform him that our weather in California is also beastly. There was fog the other day!
And sometimes I roll down my shirtsleeves!
It isn't all prancing around my apartment en déshabillé with a pipe in my mouth. And it has been AGES since I enjoyed a nice bowl full of Turkish bathhouse soap!
The tofu is good, provided it has a pork and garlic sauce. And as only the Trieste knows how to do a latte, I must make do with copious draughts of tea. Besides, I am often nowhere near an esspresso machine.
The Acacia trees bloomed recently; imagine the pollen!
We at the Golden Gate Pipe Club send him our commiseration. And wonder when he will visit us again. Like the prophet Eliyahu, we'll keep a seat ready for him, as well as a glass of wine. Port too.
Might even have some Clan tobacco.
Or even a tin of Ennerdale Flake.
Which is like St. Bruno, I hear.
Very much his style.
SO, WHAT HAPPENED DURING THE MEETING?
We oohed and aahed over several beautiful Ser Jacopo pipes presented for viewing by Marble Arch, imbibed the bottles of port lickety-split, drank some wine, consumed diverse bits of thin-sliced fatty pork compound and cheesy substances, and had tea.
Well, I had tea. I should've had much more.
Dunhill's London Mixture, Luxury Bullseye Flake, Samuel Gawith's Bothy Flake (made for the Kearvaig Pipe Club), Grant's Royal Reserve, James Fox's Bankers Mixture, Greg Pease's Sextant, Orlik (smoked by all shrewd judges), and a peculiarity I blended a while back which I recently decided to smoke again.
The Bothy Flake is an extraordinary and addictive product, being dark leathery strips very reminiscent of Balkan Flakes which are no longer available. The Bankers Mixture is a medium Latakia compound, altogether exceptionally nice. Sextant is wondrously rich and hard to describe. Orlik is enjoyable, very tobacco-y, and old-fashioned.
My peculiarity is two Virginias plus a bit of Perique.
The Perique settles down after a while.
Depth, with delicacy.
None of us were nude.
Completely absent, in addition to the former paradigm, were the dignified collector of Rainier Barbi pipes, and the smoker of Arcadia, as well as a few others. Along with tittering Japanese darlings, smart-aleck Cantonese ladies, the Taiwanese woman pipe-smoker, that cute little woman I occasionally see on the bus curled up with her headphones, and any and all shop-a-holic Filippinas.
Only the latter lack was unlamented.
[There actually IS a Taiwanese female pipe-smoker. A very nice young lady, mid to late twenties, I should guess. But I suspect she's a little hesitant about puffing in public.
Or returning home smelling like a college professors' convention.]
We were sober and restrained.
Real, and manly.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
To find out, we did just that. It was the monthly meeting of the Golden Gate Pipe Club, over at our customary location in Marin.
Average age: somewhere between thirty and fifty, although there are a few gentlemen who have already retired.
Average height: somewhere between short and large.
Average facial hair: not so much.
THE PERFECT PIPE SMOKER
Please consider me the absolute paradigm of Bay Area pipesmoker, in that I am rakish for my years, of average height, and without overly much silver in my head hair or beard. And of a very temperate world-view.
It's a status for which the competition has vanished.
The FORMER absolute paradigm moved to Boston half a year ago to be one with the snow and ice of his native soil. It was a move that saddened all of us at the time, as we could not figure out what possessed him. Boston, for chrissakes! Could just as well be Philly, Atlantic City, or Detroit!
We understand those cities are also back east.
There are snow weasels there.
He writes:
"Record amounts of snow fell in the region with over 6 feet here, treacherous ice and frigid temperatures as low as minus 11F or minus 24C (before windchill factor). Every weekend brought a fresh blizzard and at one stage the snow was falling faster than the ploughs could remove it."
[CUT]
"Crawling about on icy pitched roofs is obviously dangerous and shoveling heavy snow for hours is back-breaking labour. I would have hired a strapping yokel to do it, but they were already well engaged."
[CUT]
"Gaping holes were left on the third floor, now open to the cold, the snow and the rain."
There was more, mostly dealing with carpentry, pervasive wood rot, giant seagulls, abandoned shopping carts, and big heaps of white crap that fell from the sky. Perhaps the most salient data he shared was an angry squawk, as follows:
"Real men do not gad about naked whilst smoking Clan and admiring themselves in the mirror. Real men shovel snow several feet deep. Real men hack away at ice dams and icicles bigger than they are. Real mean carry several cords of firewood in howling blizzards and subzero temperatures. Real men do not live in whingeing, self-absorbed, double soy milk latte sipping, tofu braising, earth mother channeling San Francisco."
Obviously the primitive life-style is starting to get to him.
He also sent several photos of himself posing in the great outdoors outside his kitchen door wearing what I take to be a patent leather body suit.
No nude gadding at all, the poor man.
Alack. Alas.
Obviously I sympathize. And hasten to inform him that our weather in California is also beastly. There was fog the other day!
And sometimes I roll down my shirtsleeves!
It isn't all prancing around my apartment en déshabillé with a pipe in my mouth. And it has been AGES since I enjoyed a nice bowl full of Turkish bathhouse soap!
The tofu is good, provided it has a pork and garlic sauce. And as only the Trieste knows how to do a latte, I must make do with copious draughts of tea. Besides, I am often nowhere near an esspresso machine.
The Acacia trees bloomed recently; imagine the pollen!
We at the Golden Gate Pipe Club send him our commiseration. And wonder when he will visit us again. Like the prophet Eliyahu, we'll keep a seat ready for him, as well as a glass of wine. Port too.
Might even have some Clan tobacco.
Or even a tin of Ennerdale Flake.
Which is like St. Bruno, I hear.
Very much his style.
SO, WHAT HAPPENED DURING THE MEETING?
We oohed and aahed over several beautiful Ser Jacopo pipes presented for viewing by Marble Arch, imbibed the bottles of port lickety-split, drank some wine, consumed diverse bits of thin-sliced fatty pork compound and cheesy substances, and had tea.
Well, I had tea. I should've had much more.
Dunhill's London Mixture, Luxury Bullseye Flake, Samuel Gawith's Bothy Flake (made for the Kearvaig Pipe Club), Grant's Royal Reserve, James Fox's Bankers Mixture, Greg Pease's Sextant, Orlik (smoked by all shrewd judges), and a peculiarity I blended a while back which I recently decided to smoke again.
The Bothy Flake is an extraordinary and addictive product, being dark leathery strips very reminiscent of Balkan Flakes which are no longer available. The Bankers Mixture is a medium Latakia compound, altogether exceptionally nice. Sextant is wondrously rich and hard to describe. Orlik is enjoyable, very tobacco-y, and old-fashioned.
My peculiarity is two Virginias plus a bit of Perique.
The Perique settles down after a while.
Depth, with delicacy.
None of us were nude.
Completely absent, in addition to the former paradigm, were the dignified collector of Rainier Barbi pipes, and the smoker of Arcadia, as well as a few others. Along with tittering Japanese darlings, smart-aleck Cantonese ladies, the Taiwanese woman pipe-smoker, that cute little woman I occasionally see on the bus curled up with her headphones, and any and all shop-a-holic Filippinas.
Only the latter lack was unlamented.
[There actually IS a Taiwanese female pipe-smoker. A very nice young lady, mid to late twenties, I should guess. But I suspect she's a little hesitant about puffing in public.
Or returning home smelling like a college professors' convention.]
We were sober and restrained.
Real, and manly.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Friday, March 13, 2015
THE COMING OF DISCORD
From somewhere around teatime this afternoon till next Wednesday morning, people will be celebrating their inherent greenness.
Saint Patrick's Day is next Tuesday.
The parade is tomorrow.
In consequence thereof, sane individuals will be circumspect.
Polk Street is not the habitation of the sane.
Envision "Lepre-Con".
I am NOT looking forward to scattered clumps of bros and their various appalling smells.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Saint Patrick's Day is next Tuesday.
The parade is tomorrow.
In consequence thereof, sane individuals will be circumspect.
Polk Street is not the habitation of the sane.
Envision "Lepre-Con".
I am NOT looking forward to scattered clumps of bros and their various appalling smells.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Thursday, March 12, 2015
AQUATIC DIRIGIBLE GHOST
You might not find this as lyrical as I do: "ribbon-like structures, probably functioning as gills, covered its back. Two appendages near its mouth were specialized for filter-feeding, with a series of spines lined with bristle-like structures to sweep up small animals and particles."
It's part of a description of an ancient animal in a Reuters article.
One imagines that, with slow steady thrusts, this oversize marine vacuum cleaner propelled itself through a peaceful sea, leaving clear water in its wake as it sucked up little microscopic buggy bits.
The Reuters article does not describe its social life or reproductive habits.
It definitely had both, but these remain mysterious.
The individual Aegirocassis Benmoulid probably did not co-ordinate oceanic scrubbing activities with others of its kind.
Cite:
The creature, called Aegirocassis benmoulae, was at least 7 feet (2.1 meters) long. It is the last known member of a group called anomalocaridids that included some of the first top predators near the dawn of animal life.
Almost all the group's members were active predators, grabbing prey with appendages sprouting from their heads. Aegirocassis adopted another feeding strategy.
Its appendages acted as a sieve, capturing oodles of plankton.
End cite.
[SOURCE: Gigantic ancient arthropod was really 'a very peaceful guy' -- Reuters.]
Oodles of plankton sounds strangely appetizing.
It may have been a very happy creature.
One of the 'anomalocaridids'.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
It's part of a description of an ancient animal in a Reuters article.
AEGIROCASSIS BENMOULAE
The reconstruction of a filter-feeding Aegirocassis benmoulae from the Ordovician Period feeding on a plankton cloud is shown in this artist rendering released to Reuters on March 10, 2015.
CREDIT: REUTERS/MARIANNE COLLINS, ARTOFFACT/HANDOUT VIA REUTERS
One imagines that, with slow steady thrusts, this oversize marine vacuum cleaner propelled itself through a peaceful sea, leaving clear water in its wake as it sucked up little microscopic buggy bits.
The Reuters article does not describe its social life or reproductive habits.
It definitely had both, but these remain mysterious.
The individual Aegirocassis Benmoulid probably did not co-ordinate oceanic scrubbing activities with others of its kind.
Cite:
The creature, called Aegirocassis benmoulae, was at least 7 feet (2.1 meters) long. It is the last known member of a group called anomalocaridids that included some of the first top predators near the dawn of animal life.
Almost all the group's members were active predators, grabbing prey with appendages sprouting from their heads. Aegirocassis adopted another feeding strategy.
Its appendages acted as a sieve, capturing oodles of plankton.
End cite.
[SOURCE: Gigantic ancient arthropod was really 'a very peaceful guy' -- Reuters.]
Oodles of plankton sounds strangely appetizing.
It may have been a very happy creature.
One of the 'anomalocaridids'.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
PEAR PIMPLES FOR HAIRY FISHNUTS
Long discussion with several people including Mordechai L. on FB today. From whence these nuggets: "scream "UNDEAD" and run", and "If you are a grown adult, and someone lets you know the conversation is over, and you ask "but why" over and over, you're not actually an adult".
Plus 'unclean things" and 'witchcraft'.
And, pursuant thereto, I have a new-found respect for the Wu Tang Clan and My Little Pony.
MY LITTLE HOMEY
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NVGI6mhfJyA.]
BUCK IT ALL
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WwN5cb7vJhU.]
Mordechai L. avers that no well-run household should be without all, or nearly all, of Bloom County that was ever written.
I agree, but I assert that IN ADDITION THERETO, one should also have Calvin & Hobbes, Sherman's Lagoon, and Frumpy the Clown.
Plus Chibi Vampire. ALL of Chibi Vampire.
Chibi Vampire is the heartwarming tale of a defective bloodsucker who in her teenage years gets a mega-crush on the odd guy in her high school with the scary eyes.
You will laugh, you will cry, you will eat garlic.
These are all good things, little lobster.
Please rub butter all over.
[Apropos of nothing, my upstairs neighbor just thumped the floor and howled like a wolf. Glad to know I'm not the only one in the building.]
None of these resemble My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic.
Good lord, I can't even read the Wikipedia article.
I wanna scream "does not compute".
And bury my head.
On the other hand, the fantasy that members of the Wu Tang Clan are actually Bronies at heart is really rather charming. Big bad rapstars with foul vocabularies privately dressing as little blue and pink horsey-worseys and nurturing their softer side, oh boy fellas, I'm so there!
I've got a Hello Kitty backpack. It's just the right size for a Glock 17 plus a box of extra bullets. Blazer 9mm, but WWB 115gr target ammo (100 rounds) is better. I mention this ONLY to show that I too am in touch with my gentler self. I actually keep six briars, two pipe tobaccos, tampers and matches, and a bundle of bristly cleaners in it.
Ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies!
[He just howled again. Rabies much?]
Honestly, I never listened much to rapp until I discovered the Wu Tang and ML Ponies genre. Nope, not going to detail the link between Mordechai L.'s insistence on Bloom County as the palliative and bromine for all ailments of the spirit and 'Ponies'.
It makes sense to me. And speaks to my soul.
I have a softer feminine side.
Penguin-like.
I concede that this essay makes no sense whatsoever. Much of it was influenced by an inflammation in my right leg that I've had since that cold spell last December, as well as the migraine that started yesterday afternoon and just kept on ticking all the through till bedtime.
I've had a rough night, and I hate the f***ing Eagles, man.
Beware of penguin sex-gargoyles.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Plus 'unclean things" and 'witchcraft'.
And, pursuant thereto, I have a new-found respect for the Wu Tang Clan and My Little Pony.
MY LITTLE HOMEY
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NVGI6mhfJyA.]
BUCK IT ALL
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WwN5cb7vJhU.]
Mordechai L. avers that no well-run household should be without all, or nearly all, of Bloom County that was ever written.
I agree, but I assert that IN ADDITION THERETO, one should also have Calvin & Hobbes, Sherman's Lagoon, and Frumpy the Clown.
Plus Chibi Vampire. ALL of Chibi Vampire.
Chibi Vampire is the heartwarming tale of a defective bloodsucker who in her teenage years gets a mega-crush on the odd guy in her high school with the scary eyes.
You will laugh, you will cry, you will eat garlic.
These are all good things, little lobster.
Please rub butter all over.
[Apropos of nothing, my upstairs neighbor just thumped the floor and howled like a wolf. Glad to know I'm not the only one in the building.]
None of these resemble My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic.
Good lord, I can't even read the Wikipedia article.
I wanna scream "does not compute".
And bury my head.
On the other hand, the fantasy that members of the Wu Tang Clan are actually Bronies at heart is really rather charming. Big bad rapstars with foul vocabularies privately dressing as little blue and pink horsey-worseys and nurturing their softer side, oh boy fellas, I'm so there!
I've got a Hello Kitty backpack. It's just the right size for a Glock 17 plus a box of extra bullets. Blazer 9mm, but WWB 115gr target ammo (100 rounds) is better. I mention this ONLY to show that I too am in touch with my gentler self. I actually keep six briars, two pipe tobaccos, tampers and matches, and a bundle of bristly cleaners in it.
Ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies, ponies!
[He just howled again. Rabies much?]
Honestly, I never listened much to rapp until I discovered the Wu Tang and ML Ponies genre. Nope, not going to detail the link between Mordechai L.'s insistence on Bloom County as the palliative and bromine for all ailments of the spirit and 'Ponies'.
It makes sense to me. And speaks to my soul.
I have a softer feminine side.
Penguin-like.
I concede that this essay makes no sense whatsoever. Much of it was influenced by an inflammation in my right leg that I've had since that cold spell last December, as well as the migraine that started yesterday afternoon and just kept on ticking all the through till bedtime.
I've had a rough night, and I hate the f***ing Eagles, man.
Beware of penguin sex-gargoyles.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
THE DARKER PART OF THE INTERNET
It should go without saying that I love my friends, even the twisted dysfunctional trolls who support Bibi Netanyahu. This wouldn't even come up, save for the fact that over on Facebook, I seem to have gotten into trouble with some of them because I rightly considered Bibi's speechy-weechy last week nothing more than self-serving egomania by a psychopath desperate for re-election, fortuitously combined with the seditious tendencies of a bunch of newly-elected weasels representing the Know Nothing Party.
Saying so, it turns out, was heresy.
Yesterday Foreign Minister Avigdor Lieberman said that Arabs who are disloyal to Israel should have their heads chopped off.
[SOURCE: https://www.middleeastmonitor.com/news/middle-east/17398-lieberman-behead-arabs-who-arent-loyal-to-israel.]
As over-the-top bonkers as that statement is, it fades into insignificance compared to the comment string underneath the article on Middle East Monitor that quotes the respected dysfunctionary, who more-or-less heads Israel Beiteinu.
Israel as a subject attracts shit-flies.
From within as well as without.
Justifiably so.
“Generally, it is very typical for Israel Beiteinu to radicalize their statements in a bid to gain votes; the educated voter knows that these kind of things are a transparent attempt to garner popular support.”
---Ron Gilran, vice-president of The Levantine Group (a consultancy in Tel Aviv)
If you thought our Republicans were batshit, try the Israeli rightwing.
More stark raving mad is hard to find.
MICHA BEN ARI
A few years ago, MOK (Member of Knesset) Michael Ben Ari proudly had himself photographed ripping up the New Testament and throwing the shreds in the garbage. Ben Ari, representing the National Union Party (Ha Ihud Ha Leumim), is a follower of Meir Kahane.
In Ben Ari's defense, it wasn't an election year (in Israel), and consequently there was no need to keep American rightwing Christian sentiments in mind. Not that he would anyhow. The insane underbelly of Israel's strongest ally is only important to the Republican Party, and can be counted on to have no memory and no mind in any case.
No need to pander.
I mention all this to point out that one can be pro-Israel without admiring everything about the country, her people, and the gorillas that represent them. Not all the poo that comes out of this baby's arse is golden, some of it is dross.
The statement that we have to support Israel because it's the only democracy in the Middle East is complete nonsense, however. It is the only democracy in that neck of the woods whose voters, on the whole, are reasonably well educated, literate, and multi-facetted in their opinions.
[Excepting, as always, the Hareidim.]
It is also the only country in that neck of the woods to have reasonable people and a diversity of all the things that define civilization. That is to say, a place where there is a great likelihood that those may be found.
[Excepting, as always, the Hareidim.]
And, perhaps crucially, it is the only country in the Mediterranean region where one can travel safely. Not even Greece and Italy can claim that.
There's a lively free press there.
And strident "differences".
That's important.
There are a multitude of other reasons to be pro-Israel, too many to mention here, but if there is one thing to remember, it is that being pro-Israel is rational and reasonable, despite being critical of flaws and blots on the Israeli escutcheon like Netanyahu, Lieberman, and Ben Ari.
I probably shan't mention that on Facebook, though.
Too many damned Republicans there.
Tea-weasels.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Saying so, it turns out, was heresy.
Yesterday Foreign Minister Avigdor Lieberman said that Arabs who are disloyal to Israel should have their heads chopped off.
[SOURCE: https://www.middleeastmonitor.com/news/middle-east/17398-lieberman-behead-arabs-who-arent-loyal-to-israel.]
As over-the-top bonkers as that statement is, it fades into insignificance compared to the comment string underneath the article on Middle East Monitor that quotes the respected dysfunctionary, who more-or-less heads Israel Beiteinu.
Israel as a subject attracts shit-flies.
From within as well as without.
Justifiably so.
“Generally, it is very typical for Israel Beiteinu to radicalize their statements in a bid to gain votes; the educated voter knows that these kind of things are a transparent attempt to garner popular support.”
---Ron Gilran, vice-president of The Levantine Group (a consultancy in Tel Aviv)
If you thought our Republicans were batshit, try the Israeli rightwing.
More stark raving mad is hard to find.
A few years ago, MOK (Member of Knesset) Michael Ben Ari proudly had himself photographed ripping up the New Testament and throwing the shreds in the garbage. Ben Ari, representing the National Union Party (Ha Ihud Ha Leumim), is a follower of Meir Kahane.
In Ben Ari's defense, it wasn't an election year (in Israel), and consequently there was no need to keep American rightwing Christian sentiments in mind. Not that he would anyhow. The insane underbelly of Israel's strongest ally is only important to the Republican Party, and can be counted on to have no memory and no mind in any case.
No need to pander.
I mention all this to point out that one can be pro-Israel without admiring everything about the country, her people, and the gorillas that represent them. Not all the poo that comes out of this baby's arse is golden, some of it is dross.
The statement that we have to support Israel because it's the only democracy in the Middle East is complete nonsense, however. It is the only democracy in that neck of the woods whose voters, on the whole, are reasonably well educated, literate, and multi-facetted in their opinions.
[Excepting, as always, the Hareidim.]
It is also the only country in that neck of the woods to have reasonable people and a diversity of all the things that define civilization. That is to say, a place where there is a great likelihood that those may be found.
[Excepting, as always, the Hareidim.]
And, perhaps crucially, it is the only country in the Mediterranean region where one can travel safely. Not even Greece and Italy can claim that.
There's a lively free press there.
And strident "differences".
That's important.
There are a multitude of other reasons to be pro-Israel, too many to mention here, but if there is one thing to remember, it is that being pro-Israel is rational and reasonable, despite being critical of flaws and blots on the Israeli escutcheon like Netanyahu, Lieberman, and Ben Ari.
I probably shan't mention that on Facebook, though.
Too many damned Republicans there.
Tea-weasels.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
SHINY PELT, AND GLISTENING EYES
Dinner last night: Trader Joe's Dark Chocolate Chunk and Almond Cookies. Probably about forty percent of the container, so that's nearly half a pound. I'm blaming womankind.
See, in the old days, when I still had somebody who didn't mind jumping my dessicated bones now and then, I was a social eater. Which implied yummy things, chopsticks, side dishes, and condiments.
Having been a born-again bachelor for these past nearly five years, communal eating isn't part of the programme.
By myself, I tend to scarf crap down without thinking.
Social eater: "how about another bit of roast duck, dearheart, and these vegetables are just scrumptious!"
Single man: "I'm eating cookies!"
Rounding out the balanced diet: Old Amsterdam cheese, and un-cured Genoa Salami.
The average married man is fat and complacent, whereas the un-attached male tends toward the lean and hungry look. We must maintain our cat-like reflexes, and lithe wiry trim.
I think I have done so.
Admirably.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
See, in the old days, when I still had somebody who didn't mind jumping my dessicated bones now and then, I was a social eater. Which implied yummy things, chopsticks, side dishes, and condiments.
Having been a born-again bachelor for these past nearly five years, communal eating isn't part of the programme.
By myself, I tend to scarf crap down without thinking.
Social eater: "how about another bit of roast duck, dearheart, and these vegetables are just scrumptious!"
Single man: "I'm eating cookies!"
Rounding out the balanced diet: Old Amsterdam cheese, and un-cured Genoa Salami.
The average married man is fat and complacent, whereas the un-attached male tends toward the lean and hungry look. We must maintain our cat-like reflexes, and lithe wiry trim.
I think I have done so.
Admirably.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
THE SCOTS NEED JUSTICE!
Due to the unseasonble weather this year, parts of Scotland downriver have flooded. Consequently people are displaced, and many of them are outraged. This should have been prevented.
They are eloquent in their distress.
AN ANGRY CALEDONIAN GENTLEMAN!
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sOv5_XKwVek.]
Predictably, I cannot understand what the mad Celtic git is saying.
I often have that problem when they try to speak, and, given what the Scots are like, they might do well to stop that.
Trying to speak, that is.
Yah, man.
His throat has been scarred from all that all-purpose seasoning, browning, hot pepper sauce, and curry. Every ting. 'Clot.
"Sheet" water and "golly" water.
Never have been seen it.
All tru de ouse.
Ev'ry door.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
They are eloquent in their distress.
AN ANGRY CALEDONIAN GENTLEMAN!
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sOv5_XKwVek.]
Predictably, I cannot understand what the mad Celtic git is saying.
I often have that problem when they try to speak, and, given what the Scots are like, they might do well to stop that.
Trying to speak, that is.
Yah, man.
His throat has been scarred from all that all-purpose seasoning, browning, hot pepper sauce, and curry. Every ting. 'Clot.
"Sheet" water and "golly" water.
Never have been seen it.
All tru de ouse.
Ev'ry door.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Monday, March 09, 2015
WE NEED MORE FRENCH PEOPLE
An article on the BBC website makes for worthwhile reading, especially if, like many folks in the civilized world, you travel on the San Francisco public transit system. The other day when I was on the bus a group of youngsters in the back was cussing up a storm -- it is amazing how many teenagers who probably can't spell, and don't read, acquire such a well-developed vocabulary, by the way -- and, as usual, youngish office types up front were perfectly happy to sit in the balls-lifted position while right in front of them frail elderly people with shopping bags stood, hanging on for dear life.
If you just realized that this is going to a marginally insane pissy rant, you are quite correct. Read further, or turn away in revulsion; your choice.
Some key quotes from that article stand out.
Herewith:
"The duty of French parents to bring up their children to be model citizens."
"If you don't teach your child limits, they could do much worse things in the future."
"The permissive, child-centred model of parenting has gone too far"
Many children and young adults in San Francisco are selfish brutes with an overweening attitude of entitlement, and very much the same can be said about all the twenty-something internet-yuppies who have flocked here from elsewhere in the United States. A more uncivil and obnoxious bunch of cretinous skunks would be hard to imagine.
Riding a crowded Muni bus is an exercise in restraining yourself from smacking pasty-faced white and South-Asian retards, whether with pants drooping down or wearing programmer garb.
Model citizens? Perish the nation that considers them exemplary!
Limits? The only limitation, seemingly, is how snooty and self-impressed the little shits can be, and how outraged their mommies if you said anything about that.
Permissive and child-centred? What that means is that America's precious little brats have no incentive to grow up and act like decent human beings.
I mentioned pasty-faced whites and South-Asians above. Let me just add that African American kiddiewinkies also span the gamut from nice people you would like to see more of all the way to utter garbage.
Like the whites and South-Asians, mostly the latter.
[No, shan't even discuss most other Western Europeans, as the behaviour of their nasty kiddiewinkies is well known. Soccer hooligans, druggies, and arrogant ignorant know-it-alls. Middle-Easterners? Feh.]
There are two ethnic groups who strongly tend to have well-behaved offspring: Latinos (Mexican and Central-American) and East-Asians (Chinese et autres). Not all of them, unfortunately -- once they become thoroughly Americanized ("middle-class"), the rot sets in -- but if anyone offers their seat to some creaky old dame, it more than likely will be a Chinese American or a Mexican American. Especially younger ones.
Often also a Russian American from out in the avenues.
Sometimes Jamaicans; there aren't many here.
Very few others.
They were probably raised to be proper citizens, and to acknowledge a measure of limitation. And even if their parents were rather permissive, they weren't the centre of anything while growing up but just one member of a family, and by no means the most important one.
Children can be very nice. But far too often they become teenagers and adults who are NOT special.
At least not in any commendable ways.
The article from whence I lifted those three quotes: France holds back the anti-smacking tide.
It's very refreshing.
Most of the French people I have met in recent years have been quite delightful, albeit often verging on unintelligible. One wishes there were far more of them. I can do without the English and Scandinavian tourists, and lord knows I'm sick and tired of Eastcoasters, Midwesterners, and Southern Californians, as well as snooty internet yuppies, lawyers, and assorted business and marketing types, but French people are all right.
It's almost guaranteed that they don't whore around loud and drunk on Polk Street at three o'clock in the morning, and if they have disgusting sexual affairs they tend not to demonstrate that in public so very much.
Their behaviour is calm, courteous, and socially adept.
We need more French people.
And spanking.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
If you just realized that this is going to a marginally insane pissy rant, you are quite correct. Read further, or turn away in revulsion; your choice.
Some key quotes from that article stand out.
Herewith:
"The duty of French parents to bring up their children to be model citizens."
"If you don't teach your child limits, they could do much worse things in the future."
"The permissive, child-centred model of parenting has gone too far"
Many children and young adults in San Francisco are selfish brutes with an overweening attitude of entitlement, and very much the same can be said about all the twenty-something internet-yuppies who have flocked here from elsewhere in the United States. A more uncivil and obnoxious bunch of cretinous skunks would be hard to imagine.
Riding a crowded Muni bus is an exercise in restraining yourself from smacking pasty-faced white and South-Asian retards, whether with pants drooping down or wearing programmer garb.
Model citizens? Perish the nation that considers them exemplary!
Limits? The only limitation, seemingly, is how snooty and self-impressed the little shits can be, and how outraged their mommies if you said anything about that.
Permissive and child-centred? What that means is that America's precious little brats have no incentive to grow up and act like decent human beings.
I mentioned pasty-faced whites and South-Asians above. Let me just add that African American kiddiewinkies also span the gamut from nice people you would like to see more of all the way to utter garbage.
Like the whites and South-Asians, mostly the latter.
[No, shan't even discuss most other Western Europeans, as the behaviour of their nasty kiddiewinkies is well known. Soccer hooligans, druggies, and arrogant ignorant know-it-alls. Middle-Easterners? Feh.]
There are two ethnic groups who strongly tend to have well-behaved offspring: Latinos (Mexican and Central-American) and East-Asians (Chinese et autres). Not all of them, unfortunately -- once they become thoroughly Americanized ("middle-class"), the rot sets in -- but if anyone offers their seat to some creaky old dame, it more than likely will be a Chinese American or a Mexican American. Especially younger ones.
Often also a Russian American from out in the avenues.
Sometimes Jamaicans; there aren't many here.
Very few others.
They were probably raised to be proper citizens, and to acknowledge a measure of limitation. And even if their parents were rather permissive, they weren't the centre of anything while growing up but just one member of a family, and by no means the most important one.
Children can be very nice. But far too often they become teenagers and adults who are NOT special.
At least not in any commendable ways.
The article from whence I lifted those three quotes: France holds back the anti-smacking tide.
It's very refreshing.
Most of the French people I have met in recent years have been quite delightful, albeit often verging on unintelligible. One wishes there were far more of them. I can do without the English and Scandinavian tourists, and lord knows I'm sick and tired of Eastcoasters, Midwesterners, and Southern Californians, as well as snooty internet yuppies, lawyers, and assorted business and marketing types, but French people are all right.
It's almost guaranteed that they don't whore around loud and drunk on Polk Street at three o'clock in the morning, and if they have disgusting sexual affairs they tend not to demonstrate that in public so very much.
Their behaviour is calm, courteous, and socially adept.
We need more French people.
And spanking.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Sunday, March 08, 2015
A GENTLE BELLY-ACHE
The other evening I emptied my snailmailbox. As you might expect, there is scant need to do so more than once a week, because almost anybody who needs to communicate with me already has my e-mail address, or is on facebook, or simply leaves a comment underneath a blogpost.
Or utilizes my Letter Box.
Snailmail is for circulars, brochures, and the occasional bill or seasonal greeting card. Real communication nowadays is electronic.
THE LETTER BOX
Several people whom I know primarily via the internet have my e-mail address. Some initiated contact by clicking on my Letter Box and leaving a query with their own contact data, from which communication blossomed.
Sorry, George, that also includes you. I apologize for not having responded yet -- it's been a busy few weeks -- but sometime soon you should expect an epistle. No, I have NO idea what happened to the cigar-store Indian that was in the backroom at Drucquers -- that thing gave me nightmares, or at least played a prominent role in them; Bourbon may have also been involved -- and by the way I am still enjoying that Canadian I got from you. Burley leaves a marvelous carbon layer. Have you tried Cornell & Diehl's Haunted Bookshop, or Old Joe Kranz? Excellent Burley blends!
I highly recommend them.
Coworkers from the past, old friends, relatives in the wilds of Canada or Santa Barbara, and people I went to school with, are all welcome to make contact with intelligent life on this planet by clicking on that link.
Strange linguistics? Obscene propositions? Feedback on how your life sucks? Technical queries about pipe-smoking? How to make milk-tea? Why your little sister deserves a spanking?
All can! Truly.
I really like people. So I appreciate feedback, conversation, and caffeinated beverages anywhere in the North-Eastern quadrant of the city.
One of the original intentions of the Letter Box was to tempt some sweet young internet-cruising damsel into risking contact with a dangerous middle-aged rogue, such as I fancy myself to be.
You have to admit; it could work.
Unfortunately most college grads are FAR too savvy.
Spambots not so.
Spambots see the very first comment-style clicky-wicket and plunge right on in, more or less gibberantly disquisitioning on the piece underneath which that Letter Box was strategically placed. An article deliberately posted back in time, which simply mentions that it exists to anchor a Letter Box, by means of which people who do not have my e-mail and aren't on Facebook can contact me.
I'm still hoping for that bright young graduate student.
What I get, in bucket loads, is pork shoulder.
What I found this morning in my Letterbox:
Thank you. As you can see I have done that last one, as per your suggestion.
For your information, spam is hardly a substitute for the first shy feeler from a charming young lady who is keenly interested in a weirdo.
I am still vibrant and full of sparkle.
Don't need spam.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Or utilizes my Letter Box.
Snailmail is for circulars, brochures, and the occasional bill or seasonal greeting card. Real communication nowadays is electronic.
THE LETTER BOX
Several people whom I know primarily via the internet have my e-mail address. Some initiated contact by clicking on my Letter Box and leaving a query with their own contact data, from which communication blossomed.
Sorry, George, that also includes you. I apologize for not having responded yet -- it's been a busy few weeks -- but sometime soon you should expect an epistle. No, I have NO idea what happened to the cigar-store Indian that was in the backroom at Drucquers -- that thing gave me nightmares, or at least played a prominent role in them; Bourbon may have also been involved -- and by the way I am still enjoying that Canadian I got from you. Burley leaves a marvelous carbon layer. Have you tried Cornell & Diehl's Haunted Bookshop, or Old Joe Kranz? Excellent Burley blends!
I highly recommend them.
Coworkers from the past, old friends, relatives in the wilds of Canada or Santa Barbara, and people I went to school with, are all welcome to make contact with intelligent life on this planet by clicking on that link.
Strange linguistics? Obscene propositions? Feedback on how your life sucks? Technical queries about pipe-smoking? How to make milk-tea? Why your little sister deserves a spanking?
All can! Truly.
I really like people. So I appreciate feedback, conversation, and caffeinated beverages anywhere in the North-Eastern quadrant of the city.
One of the original intentions of the Letter Box was to tempt some sweet young internet-cruising damsel into risking contact with a dangerous middle-aged rogue, such as I fancy myself to be.
You have to admit; it could work.
Unfortunately most college grads are FAR too savvy.
Spambots not so.
Spambots see the very first comment-style clicky-wicket and plunge right on in, more or less gibberantly disquisitioning on the piece underneath which that Letter Box was strategically placed. An article deliberately posted back in time, which simply mentions that it exists to anchor a Letter Box, by means of which people who do not have my e-mail and aren't on Facebook can contact me.
I'm still hoping for that bright young graduate student.
What I get, in bucket loads, is pork shoulder.
What I found this morning in my Letterbox:
- Something about a new strategic vision in someone's community, and the perfection of the article stating that the post in question existed purely as a place holder for the Letter Box, which was precisely what they needed.
- Praise for my incredible skillz. Two kinds.
- Some gibberish about media being the fount of all knowledge.
- One person does not know who I am or how he ended up here. Sincere suggestion: therapy.
- I am cultural and surpass all definition. If you are female and utterly charming, thank you.
- Somebody spent FOUR HOURS surfing the internet before finding me. Better luck next time.
- Genuine happiness about reading, and updates for his ignorant little brother; material for a dissertation.
- Several variations of incredibility involving medications for my penis and clashing clans; I fail to see the connection to my Letter Box.
- Clashing clans. Viagra. More clans. More viagra. Variations on viagra, and cogent clan-based clashing. Do clans clash because of viagra? Who knows! Purple candy crush.
- And, last but by no means least: The misspelled yet forthrightly expressed desire that I should write further, and in greater detail, much more outstanding ponderings about the enchanting subject of my Letter Box.
Thank you. As you can see I have done that last one, as per your suggestion.
For your information, spam is hardly a substitute for the first shy feeler from a charming young lady who is keenly interested in a weirdo.
I am still vibrant and full of sparkle.
Don't need spam.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
WAKE UP YOURSELVES!
This blogger finally admits that he is NOT au courant. In fact, the entire Arab world has advanced far, far faster than I have. It wasn't until recently that I finally discovered zenga zenga. And that only because of the kind response of e-kvetcher to a recent posting here.
It is music to wake yourself up by.
Profound, and inspiring.
Good morning.
ALLEY BY ALLEY!
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6GcUutnU2gk.]
Gaddafi, you will recall, was the enlightened leader who conquered the Gauls, then assumed power, and instituted a programme of social and governmental reforms, including the creation of the calendar.
"Inch by inch, house by house, home by home, alleyway by alleyway!"
Good friend of George Galloway, if that prompts your memory.
As well as an extremely talented singer.
And a snazzy dresser.
Style icon.
The video above is over four years old.
I never heard it till this week.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
It is music to wake yourself up by.
Profound, and inspiring.
Good morning.
ALLEY BY ALLEY!
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6GcUutnU2gk.]
Gaddafi, you will recall, was the enlightened leader who conquered the Gauls, then assumed power, and instituted a programme of social and governmental reforms, including the creation of the calendar.
"Inch by inch, house by house, home by home, alleyway by alleyway!"
Good friend of George Galloway, if that prompts your memory.
As well as an extremely talented singer.
And a snazzy dresser.
Style icon.
The video above is over four years old.
I never heard it till this week.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Saturday, March 07, 2015
SWISS WINGS: GREAT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT
The other day I bought a pound of chicken wings in Chinatown. When I got home I cooked them. They are in the refrigerator, and make a perfect midnight snack.
瑞士雞翼
['Seui-si kai yik']
Swiss Wings are soaked then simmered in a soy sauce base, flavoured with sugar, ginger, chopped scallion, and rice wine. They are a Hong Kong thing, with no conceivable connection to Switzerland.
You can either make the liquid at home, or simply buy a bottle of it pre-made in Chinatown. It can also be used for larger parts of the bird, or as a marinade for any number of meats.
General rule of thumb: add as much water as sauce, to ensure even coverage and cooking. When the meat is done, remove to a plate, and reduce the sauce down to a suitable glazy thickness, OR reduce only slightly and serve splashed over the birdie bits.
Probably best with a pile of rice, but never-the-less superlative feasted upon over the sink at two in the morning with nothing else to accompany it. If you want "balance" in you diet, add a few eggs to the pot to hard-boil while cooking the wings.
If you add a splash of vinegar, it keeps longer in the fridge, and passes more than credibly for adobo. Which, when Filipinos come visit, is probably a good thing indeed. You never know when Filipinos will surprise you. Sometimes it is years between visitations, sometimes they magically appear when garlic and vinegar are used together.
It is a profound mystery.
Garlic can be added.
Very Filipino.
I tend to employ a squeeze of lime juice and a little saucer of chilipaste with nearly everything, but Swiss Wings do not need it.
Yes, fine with. But equally fine without.
Go by taste. Always go by taste.
Do not eat wings in bed.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
瑞士雞翼
['Seui-si kai yik']
Swiss Wings are soaked then simmered in a soy sauce base, flavoured with sugar, ginger, chopped scallion, and rice wine. They are a Hong Kong thing, with no conceivable connection to Switzerland.
You can either make the liquid at home, or simply buy a bottle of it pre-made in Chinatown. It can also be used for larger parts of the bird, or as a marinade for any number of meats.
General rule of thumb: add as much water as sauce, to ensure even coverage and cooking. When the meat is done, remove to a plate, and reduce the sauce down to a suitable glazy thickness, OR reduce only slightly and serve splashed over the birdie bits.
Probably best with a pile of rice, but never-the-less superlative feasted upon over the sink at two in the morning with nothing else to accompany it. If you want "balance" in you diet, add a few eggs to the pot to hard-boil while cooking the wings.
If you add a splash of vinegar, it keeps longer in the fridge, and passes more than credibly for adobo. Which, when Filipinos come visit, is probably a good thing indeed. You never know when Filipinos will surprise you. Sometimes it is years between visitations, sometimes they magically appear when garlic and vinegar are used together.
It is a profound mystery.
Garlic can be added.
Very Filipino.
I tend to employ a squeeze of lime juice and a little saucer of chilipaste with nearly everything, but Swiss Wings do not need it.
Yes, fine with. But equally fine without.
Go by taste. Always go by taste.
Do not eat wings in bed.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Friday, March 06, 2015
CRAB SEASON
Being from San Francisco, I revel in the time of year when the East-Coast is nasty, and crustaceans run rampant in the city. So naturally you will understand what came to my mind immediately upon seeing the video below.
No, it doesn't show what my social life is like.
Nor recent Facebook discussions.
I NEED A GIANT WOK!
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2GfeydETY0M.]
A friend of a friend, who is a Jew from Azerbajian or Tashkent, did not know that crustaceans were treif. Consequently his first few passovers in the free world were "memorable".
I mention this in passing, because normally only a shaigetz serves such things at a seder.
Lobster, crayfish, crabs. mussels, clams.....
All good with ginger and scallion.
It's good for you.
CLASSIC CANTONESE CRAB 薑葱蟹
['Geung Chung Haai']
Two large live Dungeness crabs
Four TBS cooking oil
Four or five scallion, segment-chopped
Four or five slices of ginger
Quarter cup sherry or 黄酒
A dash of soy sauce
Two TBS cornstarch
Salt and pepper
Pinch sugar
Put the crabs in the fridge for ten minutes to slow the little buggers down. Then place them on their backs and whack them straight across with a cleaver, opening them stem to stern; this kills them. Clean out the unmentionable parts, then put the crabs in a plastic or brown paper bag to smash and crack appropriately. This renders pieces with accesible meat, especially in the claws -- required for both the cooking as well as the subsequent eating -- and the bag prevents goo from splattering your kitchen.
You should have several large crabby sections now.
Mix the cornstarch, salt, & pepper.
Dredge the crab parts.
[The pieces should be dusted, not totally covered. A scant coating, in other words.]
Superheat the oil in the wok, add the ginger and fry till slightly gilded, then throw in the scallion. Twirl everything around the inside of the wok to infuse the oil with flavour, then before the scallion burns or colours, scoop out the vegetable matter with a slotted spoon, and while the pan is hot, dump in the crab. Stir around to make sure all parts get seared in oil, as the dredgement should be cooked. Re-add the ginger and scallion, stir, and pour in the sherry and soy sauce, add the pinch of sugar. Toss around to let the cooking finish with steam; about three minutes or so.
To serve, dump on a platter.
Cilantro is optional.
A dipping saucer with chilipaste, fish sauce, and lime juice on the side is an excellent idea. Yes, if you bashed the beast properly you can eat it with chopsticks, but you're still going to end up using your hands.
Don't forget the finger bowls.
NOTE: a more timid approach is to sort of deep fry the crab parts first, then decant and pour out a lot of the oil before finishing with scallion and ginger. And many cooks would keep the backs of the shells in one piece for presentation.
You could also just go over to Chinatown.
R&G LOUNGE
[嶺南小館 'LING-NAAM SIU-GWUN']
631 Kearny Street, Corner of Commercial Alley
San Francisco, CA 94108
They are famous for the salt and pepper crab.
Which is also great to eat.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
No, it doesn't show what my social life is like.
Nor recent Facebook discussions.
I NEED A GIANT WOK!
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2GfeydETY0M.]
A friend of a friend, who is a Jew from Azerbajian or Tashkent, did not know that crustaceans were treif. Consequently his first few passovers in the free world were "memorable".
I mention this in passing, because normally only a shaigetz serves such things at a seder.
Lobster, crayfish, crabs. mussels, clams.....
All good with ginger and scallion.
It's good for you.
CLASSIC CANTONESE CRAB 薑葱蟹
['Geung Chung Haai']
Two large live Dungeness crabs
Four TBS cooking oil
Four or five scallion, segment-chopped
Four or five slices of ginger
Quarter cup sherry or 黄酒
A dash of soy sauce
Two TBS cornstarch
Salt and pepper
Pinch sugar
Put the crabs in the fridge for ten minutes to slow the little buggers down. Then place them on their backs and whack them straight across with a cleaver, opening them stem to stern; this kills them. Clean out the unmentionable parts, then put the crabs in a plastic or brown paper bag to smash and crack appropriately. This renders pieces with accesible meat, especially in the claws -- required for both the cooking as well as the subsequent eating -- and the bag prevents goo from splattering your kitchen.
You should have several large crabby sections now.
Mix the cornstarch, salt, & pepper.
Dredge the crab parts.
[The pieces should be dusted, not totally covered. A scant coating, in other words.]
Superheat the oil in the wok, add the ginger and fry till slightly gilded, then throw in the scallion. Twirl everything around the inside of the wok to infuse the oil with flavour, then before the scallion burns or colours, scoop out the vegetable matter with a slotted spoon, and while the pan is hot, dump in the crab. Stir around to make sure all parts get seared in oil, as the dredgement should be cooked. Re-add the ginger and scallion, stir, and pour in the sherry and soy sauce, add the pinch of sugar. Toss around to let the cooking finish with steam; about three minutes or so.
To serve, dump on a platter.
Cilantro is optional.
A dipping saucer with chilipaste, fish sauce, and lime juice on the side is an excellent idea. Yes, if you bashed the beast properly you can eat it with chopsticks, but you're still going to end up using your hands.
Don't forget the finger bowls.
NOTE: a more timid approach is to sort of deep fry the crab parts first, then decant and pour out a lot of the oil before finishing with scallion and ginger. And many cooks would keep the backs of the shells in one piece for presentation.
You could also just go over to Chinatown.
R&G LOUNGE
[嶺南小館 'LING-NAAM SIU-GWUN']
631 Kearny Street, Corner of Commercial Alley
San Francisco, CA 94108
They are famous for the salt and pepper crab.
Which is also great to eat.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Thursday, March 05, 2015
MILK TEA
For the benefit of random searchers questing for tea, a brief discussion of 'chai' versus 'Hong Kong milk tea'. There are important distinctions, and if you purchase a beverage from a chain in the United States, you should know that what you are getting is crap.
Trust me. Total crap.
It ain't chai.
INDIA: THE CHAI WALLAH
Chai is also called masala chai, meaning spice tea. It is made by adding green cardamom and fennel seeds to a pot of water, heating it to a boil, then dumping loose leaf black tea into it. Reboil a few times, add milk, simmer briefly or reboil once, then strain it and add very little sugar to taste. Yes, it is supposed to be milky, but no, it is NOT a sweet hot dairy beverage. It is tea; it should taste like tea.
Everything else is an afterthought.
Good judgement is inherent.
I do not know how Starbucks and Oregon make chai.
They probably milk rabid weasels.
Damned hippies.
Weasels!
Some people also add ginger, and Kathiawadis as well as some other Gujarati types throw in black pepper. It's probably good with a dish of undhiu, but no civilized person will ever find out.
Or papad, of you are Sindhi.
Cinnamon and nutmeg are NOT part of the programme.
See previous remarks about Starbucks and Oregon.
Damned hippies.
FRAGRANT HARBOUR: THE WAKE-ME-UPPER
Hong Kong milk tea starts with a blend of black tea leaves and either lychee black or pu-erh, or both. Put it into a long cloth strainer and suspend it in a tall tin pot on the burner. Simmer a while, then lower heat to keep it perky throughout the day. To serve, liberally dollop some sweetened condensed milk into the bottom of a cup or tall glass, then pour the steaming dark tea over it and stir.
It should be hot, bitter, and sweet.
Which is very refreshing.
RELEVANT TERMS
Naai cha (奶茶): milk tea. Gong sik naai cha (港式奶茶): Harbour style milk tea; harbour refers to Hong Kong. Si mat naai cha (絲襪奶茶): silk-stocking milk tea; called thus because the long cloth strainer bag usually ends up looking bedraggled and droopy, like your grandma's well-worn garments from the days when she stilled danced with sailors at that place in Yau Tsim Mong. She's had a shocking life, believe it or not. It was just after the war.
Si mat (絲襪): panty hose.
Lin naai (煉奶): condensed milk.
Tam naai (淡奶): indifferent milk, meaning the evaporated milk sometimes used in lieu of sweetened condensed milk. Seung hei pai (雙喜牌): double happiness brand; a popular condensed milk from Malaysia. Sau sing gung lin naai (壽星公煉奶): god of longevity condensed milk, formerly made by a Dutch company in South Vietnam (local name: "Sữa Ông Thọ"), since then manufactured in North America for the Asian overseas community.
Cha chanteng (茶餐廳): tea restaurant; the type of canteen or cheap food place serving spaghetti and spam where milk-tea was invented. Yuen yeung (鴛鴦): mandarin ducks, that being the term for coffee and milk-tea mixed, a favourite beverage of students.
Tung naai cha (凍奶茶): milk tea over ice.
Bo baa naai cha(波霸奶茶): horrid Taiwanese crap with tapioca globs. Jan jyu naai cha (珍珠奶茶): another name for horrid Taiwanese crap.
Related: Royal Milk Tea
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Trust me. Total crap.
It ain't chai.
INDIA: THE CHAI WALLAH
Chai is also called masala chai, meaning spice tea. It is made by adding green cardamom and fennel seeds to a pot of water, heating it to a boil, then dumping loose leaf black tea into it. Reboil a few times, add milk, simmer briefly or reboil once, then strain it and add very little sugar to taste. Yes, it is supposed to be milky, but no, it is NOT a sweet hot dairy beverage. It is tea; it should taste like tea.
Everything else is an afterthought.
Good judgement is inherent.
I do not know how Starbucks and Oregon make chai.
They probably milk rabid weasels.
Damned hippies.
Weasels!
Some people also add ginger, and Kathiawadis as well as some other Gujarati types throw in black pepper. It's probably good with a dish of undhiu, but no civilized person will ever find out.
Or papad, of you are Sindhi.
Cinnamon and nutmeg are NOT part of the programme.
See previous remarks about Starbucks and Oregon.
Damned hippies.
FRAGRANT HARBOUR: THE WAKE-ME-UPPER
Hong Kong milk tea starts with a blend of black tea leaves and either lychee black or pu-erh, or both. Put it into a long cloth strainer and suspend it in a tall tin pot on the burner. Simmer a while, then lower heat to keep it perky throughout the day. To serve, liberally dollop some sweetened condensed milk into the bottom of a cup or tall glass, then pour the steaming dark tea over it and stir.
It should be hot, bitter, and sweet.
Which is very refreshing.
RELEVANT TERMS
Naai cha (奶茶): milk tea. Gong sik naai cha (港式奶茶): Harbour style milk tea; harbour refers to Hong Kong. Si mat naai cha (絲襪奶茶): silk-stocking milk tea; called thus because the long cloth strainer bag usually ends up looking bedraggled and droopy, like your grandma's well-worn garments from the days when she stilled danced with sailors at that place in Yau Tsim Mong. She's had a shocking life, believe it or not. It was just after the war.
Si mat (絲襪): panty hose.
Lin naai (煉奶): condensed milk.
Tam naai (淡奶): indifferent milk, meaning the evaporated milk sometimes used in lieu of sweetened condensed milk. Seung hei pai (雙喜牌): double happiness brand; a popular condensed milk from Malaysia. Sau sing gung lin naai (壽星公煉奶): god of longevity condensed milk, formerly made by a Dutch company in South Vietnam (local name: "Sữa Ông Thọ"), since then manufactured in North America for the Asian overseas community.
Cha chanteng (茶餐廳): tea restaurant; the type of canteen or cheap food place serving spaghetti and spam where milk-tea was invented. Yuen yeung (鴛鴦): mandarin ducks, that being the term for coffee and milk-tea mixed, a favourite beverage of students.
Tung naai cha (凍奶茶): milk tea over ice.
Bo baa naai cha(波霸奶茶): horrid Taiwanese crap with tapioca globs. Jan jyu naai cha (珍珠奶茶): another name for horrid Taiwanese crap.
Related: Royal Milk Tea
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
BADGERS, BADGERS?
It is flabberghasting that there is no Chinese Wikipedia entry that corresponds with the English and Winaray articles about badgers.
Especially as there are indeed badgers in the Far East.
The Asian Badger, among many others.
Whole lot of badgers.
獾，又稱狗獾、歐亞獾、或亞洲獾。
也有豬獾。
A friend asked why there was no year of the badger. I gently explained to him that badgers do not have overblown egos, and therefore never need to have their own very special year.
It is ALWAYS a badger year.
Hound badger versus hog badger.
While researching 獾 on the internet, I came across this sentence: 但猪獾肉比狗獾肉鲜美 ('daan chyu-fun yiuk pei gau-fun yiuk sin-mei'). Literally, "but pig-badger meat compared to dog-badger meat (is) DELICIOUS!"
猪獾 ('chyu fun') is Arctonyx collaris, a mustelid which is smaller than the European badger, that lives in Central Asia and points further south.
狗獾 ('gau fun') is the standard issue civilised badger, widespread throughout the Eurasian continent.
I am appalled that anyone would consider either animal food.
This is just not cricket.
The two places in China with barbaric food habits are, of course, Dongguan (東莞 'tung gun'; "Eastern Clubrushes") and Shenzhen (深圳 'sam jan'; "Deep Ditches"). One of them is the pimp and sex-industry capitol of the country, the other is well-known for corruption, disease, and the brutal exploitation of migrant workers, as well as unimaginable decadence.
Capitalism and car-dealerships run rampant.
I have no doubt that those two places eat more badger than all the rest of Asia combined. Their fellow countrymen justifiably look askance at either locale, no doubt wondering what horrendous upbringing resulted in such depravity.
Real people eat pork, fish, and crustaceans.
And sometimes lamb.
Or beef.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Especially as there are indeed badgers in the Far East.
The Asian Badger, among many others.
Whole lot of badgers.
獾，又稱狗獾、歐亞獾、或亞洲獾。
也有豬獾。
A friend asked why there was no year of the badger. I gently explained to him that badgers do not have overblown egos, and therefore never need to have their own very special year.
It is ALWAYS a badger year.
Hound badger versus hog badger.
While researching 獾 on the internet, I came across this sentence: 但猪獾肉比狗獾肉鲜美 ('daan chyu-fun yiuk pei gau-fun yiuk sin-mei'). Literally, "but pig-badger meat compared to dog-badger meat (is) DELICIOUS!"
猪獾 ('chyu fun') is Arctonyx collaris, a mustelid which is smaller than the European badger, that lives in Central Asia and points further south.
狗獾 ('gau fun') is the standard issue civilised badger, widespread throughout the Eurasian continent.
I am appalled that anyone would consider either animal food.
This is just not cricket.
The two places in China with barbaric food habits are, of course, Dongguan (東莞 'tung gun'; "Eastern Clubrushes") and Shenzhen (深圳 'sam jan'; "Deep Ditches"). One of them is the pimp and sex-industry capitol of the country, the other is well-known for corruption, disease, and the brutal exploitation of migrant workers, as well as unimaginable decadence.
Capitalism and car-dealerships run rampant.
I have no doubt that those two places eat more badger than all the rest of Asia combined. Their fellow countrymen justifiably look askance at either locale, no doubt wondering what horrendous upbringing resulted in such depravity.
Real people eat pork, fish, and crustaceans.
And sometimes lamb.
Or beef.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, March 04, 2015
A BIT OF A RANT ABOUT YOU ANTI-SMOKING TYPES
She looked utterly adorable as she toddled off with her freshly lit cigar. Face glowing, small fingers clutching a very nice Toro with a maduro wrapper from an estimable Nicaraguan Firma, fragrant smoke trailing.
Even without the cigar, she's the bees knees.
Alas, she's taken.
I had asked why she hadn't been by in such a long while. It turns out her boyfriend has been on her case about the cigar habit. He disapproves. So she humoured him.
However she had seen a recent cellphone photo that showed him cheating on her with cigars of his own, with his buddies, and she felt betrayed.
Infuriated, actually. The nerve! If it weren't for her, the shmo wouldn't even know about good cigars, he'd still be huffing those flavoured mango and watermelon stogies!
But, apparently, cigars are "unfeminine".
She's exceptionally feminine.
Very much a lady.
I congratulated her on her return, and sympathized. Many of us give up, or hide, habits that our more temperamental halves wish us to stop. I haven't seen one of my associates in ages because his husband thinks that pipe-smoking is an odious habit.
Being in love with the boy, he plays along.
It's only temporary, though.
He loves a pipe.
Eventually cigars and pipes must win. The reason being that so soothing a habit prolongs life by alleviating stress, and improves life by making us more human.
Yes, I can understand the complaints if cigar and pipe smokers pong up the family dwelling, and I'll also cross the road to avoid little children under the supervision of school staff, because they're duty-bound to voice objections. Fragile little monsters and all that. Bad examples.
We'll tone down, and step aside.
Temperance in all things.
Along with tolerance.
Balance above all.
But let's face it; if today's young near-adults don't get a chance to experiment with so gentle a habit -- one that conduces thoughtfulness and discernment -- how on earth are we ever going to end up with happy old-folks, three or four decades from now?
There will be no one to push our wheelchairs out to the designated smoking spot six blocks away from the nearest parks, grammar schools, and old folks home.
Instead there will be grim hatched faced nurse Ratchet types, bolting doors when they see us approach with our smoking equipment, screaming that they're only doing it for our own good, we're gonna live to a hundred even if it makes us miserable, smoking is nasty!
Get the little farts into tobacco now, before they turn into opinionated ignorant college kids. It will stand them in good stead while they study, and irritate the prudes and puritans trying to brainwash them.
They'll grow up wise and open-minded.
And ready to join us for a puff.
Even if it is raining outside.
I do not smoke in the house after the middle of the afternoon on my days off, because my apartment mate is a non-smoker, who would undoubtedly be upset if the place smelled like a men's club when she returned. That's only natural. And I can understand that she would not want her stuffed animals to pong of pipe fumes.
But she's not a strident missionary type, and, as we aren't physically involved, she has no problem with my smoking and smelling ab initio. She once told me that she did not want me to die young, but by now that's no longer a worry.
She's a good friend, and I tone down my more robust habits when I am around her. Not many people will get so much regard, as I tend to avoid sneering snooty types. Non-smokers are okay. Anti-smokers have a bug up their ass -- often several bugs -- and not only screech about second and third hand smoke killing them by aggravating their asthma and allergies, but they will also often proselytize for weird dietary modifications -- no meat ever, and fish ONLY on alternate Tuesdays, IF there's a full moon -- no perfumes, no Monsanto, all-natural and sharing profits with the home for vegetarian orphans, gluten-free and energy-efficient. Usually they also refuse to even consider that colourful native cultures might be murderous and consumerite.
Sustainable farming! No vaccination! Green gas!
Don't throw it out, mulch it for compost! You must separate your garbage into categories: decomposable, recyclable, re-purposable, chemical waste, plus cotton, brights, and non-imperialist!
Smoking is a dead white male habit.
Terminally unhip.
In another few minutes I shall be heading downtown, to enjoy a dinner cooked by colourful elsewhere natives that utilizes meat, in an environment where pretentious allergies are not indulged. At times the owner will be outside taking a break with a puff or two. The counter staff find my pipe a rather delightful eccentricity, and no one who works there has EVER told me that I smell bad. Maybe they might think so, but they're not out to change the world, and men are supposed to be a bit funky.
After that I'm heading over to the cigar bar.
To recycle dead leaves.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Even without the cigar, she's the bees knees.
Alas, she's taken.
I had asked why she hadn't been by in such a long while. It turns out her boyfriend has been on her case about the cigar habit. He disapproves. So she humoured him.
However she had seen a recent cellphone photo that showed him cheating on her with cigars of his own, with his buddies, and she felt betrayed.
Infuriated, actually. The nerve! If it weren't for her, the shmo wouldn't even know about good cigars, he'd still be huffing those flavoured mango and watermelon stogies!
But, apparently, cigars are "unfeminine".
She's exceptionally feminine.
Very much a lady.
I congratulated her on her return, and sympathized. Many of us give up, or hide, habits that our more temperamental halves wish us to stop. I haven't seen one of my associates in ages because his husband thinks that pipe-smoking is an odious habit.
Being in love with the boy, he plays along.
It's only temporary, though.
He loves a pipe.
Eventually cigars and pipes must win. The reason being that so soothing a habit prolongs life by alleviating stress, and improves life by making us more human.
Yes, I can understand the complaints if cigar and pipe smokers pong up the family dwelling, and I'll also cross the road to avoid little children under the supervision of school staff, because they're duty-bound to voice objections. Fragile little monsters and all that. Bad examples.
We'll tone down, and step aside.
Temperance in all things.
Along with tolerance.
Balance above all.
But let's face it; if today's young near-adults don't get a chance to experiment with so gentle a habit -- one that conduces thoughtfulness and discernment -- how on earth are we ever going to end up with happy old-folks, three or four decades from now?
There will be no one to push our wheelchairs out to the designated smoking spot six blocks away from the nearest parks, grammar schools, and old folks home.
Instead there will be grim hatched faced nurse Ratchet types, bolting doors when they see us approach with our smoking equipment, screaming that they're only doing it for our own good, we're gonna live to a hundred even if it makes us miserable, smoking is nasty!
Get the little farts into tobacco now, before they turn into opinionated ignorant college kids. It will stand them in good stead while they study, and irritate the prudes and puritans trying to brainwash them.
They'll grow up wise and open-minded.
And ready to join us for a puff.
Even if it is raining outside.
I do not smoke in the house after the middle of the afternoon on my days off, because my apartment mate is a non-smoker, who would undoubtedly be upset if the place smelled like a men's club when she returned. That's only natural. And I can understand that she would not want her stuffed animals to pong of pipe fumes.
But she's not a strident missionary type, and, as we aren't physically involved, she has no problem with my smoking and smelling ab initio. She once told me that she did not want me to die young, but by now that's no longer a worry.
She's a good friend, and I tone down my more robust habits when I am around her. Not many people will get so much regard, as I tend to avoid sneering snooty types. Non-smokers are okay. Anti-smokers have a bug up their ass -- often several bugs -- and not only screech about second and third hand smoke killing them by aggravating their asthma and allergies, but they will also often proselytize for weird dietary modifications -- no meat ever, and fish ONLY on alternate Tuesdays, IF there's a full moon -- no perfumes, no Monsanto, all-natural and sharing profits with the home for vegetarian orphans, gluten-free and energy-efficient. Usually they also refuse to even consider that colourful native cultures might be murderous and consumerite.
Sustainable farming! No vaccination! Green gas!
Don't throw it out, mulch it for compost! You must separate your garbage into categories: decomposable, recyclable, re-purposable, chemical waste, plus cotton, brights, and non-imperialist!
Smoking is a dead white male habit.
Terminally unhip.
In another few minutes I shall be heading downtown, to enjoy a dinner cooked by colourful elsewhere natives that utilizes meat, in an environment where pretentious allergies are not indulged. At times the owner will be outside taking a break with a puff or two. The counter staff find my pipe a rather delightful eccentricity, and no one who works there has EVER told me that I smell bad. Maybe they might think so, but they're not out to change the world, and men are supposed to be a bit funky.
After that I'm heading over to the cigar bar.
To recycle dead leaves.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
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,...
