DEPRAVITY: BEST IN LIGHT RAIN

Like a great many San Franciscans I occasionally venture into the sleazy side of life. Twixt decadent and peculiarily messed-up. Ooh, that frisson! Delicious! Is there leather involved?

Per long-standing custom, whenever I work with Hector, I smoke an aromatic mixture in my pipe, because I just love the way his little face scrunches up and he wails "why are you doing this to me" in a heartwrenching fashion. He comes from somewhere in the Latin World and consequently is an innocent purist. He despairs over the sheer repulsiveness, in his mind, of tobacco buggered-up with fruity substances. To him that just reeks of Levantine cruelty and the Persian Position. Faugh! And oof!

Yesterday I popped a tin of 'Exotic Passion'. Alledgedly by Charles Rattray, who like many Scotsmen must have secretely indulged in horrid vices when the lights were out and the reformatory girls had fallen asleep.

There, lurking just beyond the edge of consciousness in the drafty dormitories, he'd deliberately set fire to something nightmare-inducing.

Actually it proved disappointing. Hector did not have the longed-for reaction when I smoked this yesterday. Didn't even notice. He was smoking a Nicaraguan cheroot at the time, which in all likelihood did not seriously impact his acute sense of smell, and he didn't demonstrate a sense of despair in the slightest.

Some aromatics convey the exact flavour of the additives in their taste but smell soapy to the non-smoker, some provide delightful odours to other people but taste off and dreckish to the man with the pipe. This is neither, and yet both. In the nose and mouth there are faint hints of chemicals and perfumes. I have no idea what the room-note is, but I did not hear the expected gurgles and moans. Sad.

It's more Irish than Scottish. Floral essences, plus mango, orange, and allegedly a hint of maple for sweetness. On a base of decent Virginias, some mixed cavendish, and Burley.

Depraved and decadent, but not delightful.


If this were a Roman orgy, there would be too little rose petal to smother the unwanted guests. It's perfectly smokeable, and the tin art is striking. Probably great with herbal tea.

Possibly it will take me several months to finish this.

If I had a lingerie drawer I'd stick it in there.

I'll try another bowl before lunch.



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HOPE YOU FEEL BETTER

It is deeply disappointing that the antique maroons in the back room are still one hundred percent convinced that the orange dingo is the best president ever. Also, that he's human. They truly are special. As well as out of touch with reality.

What's amazing is that the same tired old bastard who can snarl "you youngsters don't know how good you have it!" can also fondly remember that his first apartment only cost half a week's salary and that he used to eat steak five times a week.

Meanwhile, out in the rest of the country, people are losing jobs, their medical care, their houses, and big rigs are flipping over in Texas sandstorms, while the economy is tanking, the price of eggs is going sky-high (apparently that's the fault of those damned liberals), foreign countries no longer take us seriously, worthwile research is coming to a standstill, and the French are demanding that we return the Statue Of Liberty.

Also, according to the bozos, there are far too many non-waspy people.

Somebody ought to do something!

So after a few days of hearing all their angry fascist gibbering , I am glad to be off work. I'm wondering where in Chinatown I shall eat tomorrow. Somewhere that I don't have to listen to vituperative whining from some venomous old white geezer or entitle male Karen who is wearing his incontinence diaper over the wrong end.

Also, I have been told, golf is a serious sport. All the best people play golf.

That isn't my experience and nor my observation, but okay.


Instead of torching Teslas, perhaps we should pick other targets. Or target something else in addition to Teslas. Teslas are just one worthwhile thing. But they're a finite resource.
There's more to life than Teslas. Or burned out hulks of Teslas.
I am practical, and have helpful suggestions.
Golf courses and country clubs.
For instance.


There is very much that can be set fire to, in fact. So that's a plus.



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ADD MORE CARS TO THE TRAFFIC JAM

A bit of a damper on the Saint Patrick's Day drunken orgy has been the ghastly weather locally. Not that you would have noticed by the puking green-garbed yutzes down the street. Because drowning your seasonal depression in alcohol is a cherished American custom.
The bigger the damper, the more the booze.

I am eternally grateful that there is no Dutch American holiday marked by excess and stupid costumes. Not even clog dancing festivals, because clog dancing is widely acknowledged as an uniquely Scotch and Irish phenomenon, as well as staggeringly popular in this country's alcoholic hinterland communities, which rarely if ever include sober Dutchmen.


When this sober Dutchman was walking home from the bus last night, he had to wade through masses of young drunks clad in emerald vestments.

It did not incline me favourably towards American Jugend of any age, my fellow Americans in general, or the weird-ass gods they worship.

Naturally I spent the rest of the evening in a sour mood.


NOW FOR A SHINY SAINT PATRICKS DAY BRAIN FART:

It strikes me that precisely like Russia, the English should take back terrain in a territory that has historically always been part of their sphere of influence, where much of their culture and history still has great import, and their language dominates. As well as their cuisine.

Also, I've heard that there are Nazis there.

As well as important minerals.

And precious seaweed.

A hotbed of mildew.

Everyone loved mildew. It's the foundation of Western Civilization. Precious, precious mildew. If America can insist that Canada, Greenland, and Panama join the U. S., then England can demand Hibernia do the same. They will happy, and everyone can be rich. They've been bigly taking advantage of England too long. Ripping them off.

Strategically, they need mildew.
It's so unfair! Tarriffs!

Erin covfefe!


Bigly, bigly, bigly, bigly!



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THE GOOD BOY SCOUTS

At some point there will be revolution. Institutions the American people rely on are starting to crack, schools and research instutions are preparing for two or three years of underfunding and uncertainty. And, judging by the morons I get to hear at work, that's just dandy.
They'll cheer for much more of this.

Meanwhile, the United States government is careening full tilt ahead into idiocy, fascism, and wrecking ball behaviour.

Also, we're being told that overdosing on vitamin A and codliver oil will cure disease.
They're much better than ivermectin and hydroxichloroquine!
Ya just gotta have faith!

Who knew!


The bright spot, if it can be called that, is that Republican heads will roll, and wankpanzers are proving almost infinitely combustible. My heavens can they burn.
They sometimes spontaneously catch fire!
It's amazing.

Like everyone, I love a good bonfire. Witches, the country, and marshmallows on sticks.
And weenies! Delicious juicy tofu weenies!

Here in California there is always a risk of fires.
It's something we have learned to live with.
We always know where the exit is.


Power, greed, and lost idealism?


Plus you should expect extreme weather events throughout the year. Just remember, thinking that these are because of climate change would be very unChristian.
What the heck is wrong with you?!?



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A VERY ENGLISH TEA TIME

Always when I head to work after a few days off I worry about the gibbering which I shall hear from the senescent monkeys in the backroom. After a full week of Republican Victory™ after Republican Victory™ (tarriffs on, tarriffs off, tarriffs on, tarriffs off) there's no telling what they'll say. Except, of course, that somehow it's all the fault of Canada and the liberals. Which these days are conflated in their heads. Indeed, there is quite an overlap; Canadian society is not nearly as nuts as our own country, and seems to have a more even keel than us.
For one thing, they don't have berserk Nazis representing them.
They aren't Alabama, Georgia, or Colorado.

But honestly, I need not worry. Whatever those oafs say won't be any less off-kilter than some of the stuff I hear here in San Francisco. One of the old fellows at the bakery recently wished me to know that the Portuguese were vastly better than the Dutch, because we (the Dutch) never took Macau despite waging war for over a generation -- even though we did kick those greasy sardines out of Formosa, Ceylon, and Malacca -- and the city peacefully rejoined the glorious motherland (in 1999) over a decade after the British had been finally forced to relinquish Hong Kong. He had seen a youtube. So he freshly knew.

Umm. Macau became Chinese again only two years after Hong Kong.
Not over a decade. Two years.

Anyhow, his point was that the lease was up, so get your limey posteriors out, and good riddance, and the Dutch were a bunch of losers. Those other places don't count anyhow.

PINEAPPLE BUN WITH RED BEAN PASTE FILLING

The conversation had been about kumquats (金橘), of which I had recently given a bagful to the Indonesian Chinese lady downstairs, along with some apples. It had within barely one minute veered into Macau. Which is as far away from kumquats as pussy cats to nuclear fission, if you ask me, but I'm not ninety plus years old and my mind isn't as agile.

So the hot cup of Hong Kong milk tea and the pineapple bun were very enjoyable indeed, the conversation slightly less so. And when the gentleman with hearing and attention span issues joined us it headed south.

Good thing we didn't talk about political events.
I would have been screaming.



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THE ART OF AVOIDANCE

What with the United States rapidly becoming a failed state, the rational man seeks escape. The rational man in this case is a Dutch American whose ancestors arrived here when New York was still Nieuw Amsterdam. Also, several members of his kin have served in the United States military. Which means that I thumb my nose at recent arrivals like the two draft dodging shitstains energetically dismantling the country at present.

Quite naturally I prefer places where I don't have to listen to people speaking English and being total Karens. Ninety percent of the country.

[I also tend to avoid places where I would hear Dutch or German. There is NO need to get involved in conversations where I end up trying to yanksplain this country or agreeing that it's weirder and worser than anyone thought.]

So I often head over to Chinatown.

Look, modern America is a dystopian and contentious place. I'm just not up for that all the time anymore. And despite speaking a modicum of Cantonese, in Chinatown I am not required to put up with stupid or insulting comments from people who have never been anywhere and know remarkably little. In English-only environments that's standard.

LAAP MEI POU CHAI FAAN

Because of the weather and the time of day there were half a dozen customers instead of the usual happy throng. It was cold and nasty outside, and had been so for several hours. On such days claypot rice is seriously appealing, along with hot Hong Kong Milk Tea.
They specialize in the latter, but have a limited spectrum of the former.

Preserved meats and a vegetable, rice, and after being put in front of the diner soy sauce poured around the edges to loosen the crackly bits.

臘味煲仔飯

Marvelous. Didn't hear any English or Dutch being spoken, the two Germans paid and left when I arrived. The Hong Kong morning news was on the telly. Including the traffic report (交通新聞 'gaau tong san man'). Which, in a densely packed city with almost no convenient parking, especially in this quadrant, is both surreal and fascinating.

It was thoroughly enjoyable.



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MOST POPULAR HUE

One of the colour shades which is incredibly popular, especially in ultra-macho places like Texas and the Appalachias, because it goes so well with worn military fatigues, camouflage patterns, and interior design, is what is known as 'gunmetal'. A dark grey with a blueish tinge suggestive of the alloy used in Civil War weaponry. And please remember that the Civil War represents the greatest age in America. Life was better then. Which everyone in certain important areas of the country knows. Everyone.

It's invisible to ducks, by the way.

Gunmetal is a reassuring decorative element in Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, Colorado, Florida, Georgia, Idaho, Indiana, Iowa, Kentucky, Louisiana, Massachusetts, Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New Jersey, North Carolina, North Dakota, Ohio, Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, South Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Virginia, West Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming.

Here in California we actually tend towards 'shrinking violet' and 'crocodile green', which were the dominant colours of the hippie era. We never experienced the Civil War, you see, and vastly prefer the gentle tints of tofu. As well as puce. Puce is nice.

But never mind.

Anything can be 'gun metal'. Watches. Cyber trucks. Cigar lighters.
Bathroom tiles. Eyeshadow. Canned food.
Religion.

AIRLINE MILES, NO ANNUAL FEE

Government agencies. Caskets. Voting booths.
Housing. The Department of Re-education.
Your inbred cousins from Tennessee.
Repurposed building equipment.


Over the next few months your familiarity with this hue will greatly increase.


Along with Ballistol Break-Free CLP, Hoppe's No. 9, or Remington Rem Oil, which are all known for their cleaning, lubricating, and corrosion-preventing properties.
Essential parts of a hip and with-it fashion sense.




Please note: Very many things remain unsaid, and several risky words have been avoided, because I don't want the godddamned authorities to arrest me on some ridiculous pretext and "disappear me". Yes, I'm an American citizen, but that has not helped me in any way in the past. And I do not want this peace-loving Christian blog to become 'Exhibit A' in a trial of un-maga dissent. Which is another reason I won't ever live in the goddamned shithole states like Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, Colorado, Florida, Georgia, Idaho, Indiana, Iowa, Kentucky, Louisiana, Massachusetts, Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New Jersey, North Carolina, North Dakota, Ohio, Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, South Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Virginia, West Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming. All places, by the way, where literacy is often non-existent.
And the food is garbage. How is the price of eggs?
Covfefe!




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NEVER MIND THE BRAIN ROT

In celebration of so much winning, especially the tariffs which are going to make us all rich, including the pasty overweight lazy-ass goobers in West Virginia, Louisiana, Oklahoma, Mississippi, and Iowa -- which also have the highest rates of diabetes, because corn syrup is all American and helped us win the space race -- this blogger intends to feast on guacamole and corn chips as much as possible for the next two or three months. Making an exception for Saint Patrick's Day, of course, when potato chips are for cultural reasons de rigueur and anything spicy is out of the question. I'll make up for it on Cinco De Mayo, when double doses of all of that are consumed at every fraternity by thousands of white boys.

It all about owning the libs.


GUACAMOLE

2 or 3 ripe avocados, de-pitted and scooped into a bowl.
1 small onion, finely chopped.
1 Roma tomato, chopped.
1 clove garlic, minced.
2 or 3 Jalapeno chilies, minced.
The juice of one or maybe two limes.
salt.
Dash Tabasco (*).

Mix everything together with a fork till it is coarsely mashed. Refrigerate for an hour to let the flavours bloom. Serve with damned well everything.


Cinco De Mayo and Saint Paddy's are all about getting wasted and celebrating our common Judeo-Christian values and culture. Also, committing acts of vandalism while screaming "we're number one" and similar eloquent slogans.

Don't worry about getting arrested, because you are white, and "boys will be boys".

Unless you accidentally set fire to a wankpanzer, because then you are demonstrably not white, and deserve every charge in the book and then some.
And you are probably a woman too.


By the way, it is your patriotic duty dammit to swill as much Bourbon as you can, because the Canadians (damned foreigners) aren't buying any, and nothing is more wholesome and absolutely red-white-and-blue all-American than whiskey.


Jameson and decent tequila aren't even in the running.
Once again, DON'T set fire to wankpanzers.
Doing so is un-American.


This blogger will be abstaining from American whiskey entirely, because Jack Daniels and Jim Beam are shitty products anyhow and I'm a Europhile and a snob -- that Tabasco (see above) is also on my no-no list, because it's nasty metallic-tasting vinegar only appropriate for poofters in the swamps -- and entirely besides which disgusting public inebriation really ain't my thing, not being a sportsfan or a stupid redneck.



By the way: California grows most of the avocados consumed in the United States.
I think we should keep them all to ourselves, and screw the rest of you.
Please note that wankpanzers are extremely flammable.
Don't drive them. Might be deadly.



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AN ABSENCE OF RODENTIALITY

As is customary every week I headed out, after a brief rest, to meet the bookseller for an evening of bar-conversation -- the start of his weekend, the middle of mine -- armed with pipe and tobacco. Sadly, the only rat I saw today was running around the trash-dumping area at the end of the square earlier while it was still light. The early rat gets the garbage bag. And despite the alleys being usually a generous venue for rat watching, which is also part of the weekly custom, the presence of several rat traps showed why they weren't like that now.

Imagine rodent lamentations. And songs about the valley of death.
Not even any transgender mice, despite the liberal funding.
I understand that elsewhere they're everywhere.
It's all the Republicans fault.

Back in my day, sonny, tell you what! Hmmph!

Other than that I quite enjoyed my wait for the bookseller to get off work. Smoked my pipe, watched the occasional pedestrian, sidestepped one or two street people, said 'thank you' to a young lady who complimented me on my smoking equipment, and quietly meditated.

I missed the rats (and transgender mice), though. They add so much to life I feel. Besides a distinct gamey funkiness. Nature in all her scurrying glory.

The beer place was too full. The karaoke place was an insane asylum. The bail-out from both those venues got crowded moments after we sat down, and normal conversation was nearly impossible, but besides that I think my hearing is getting worse. I said "what" several times, even after we had left.

I'm still giggling over the 'transgender mice'. We're currently governed by imbeciles.
Who are assisted by imbeciles. And applauded by other imbeciles.
Rats and mice can be remarkably intelligent.
Unlike Republicans.


What?



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TIME TO TAKE MY PILLS

If you're wondering how folks in San Francisco are taking America's rapid slide into blinkered rightwing dingbattism, we're taking it surprisingly well. Mostly because we didn't expect much else from the rest of the country. We've always considered everything between the Oakland Hills and The East River to be Deliverance country anyway, with too many banjo players.
So this isn't any special shocking revelation to us.
Your mask slipped, that's all.


Most of it is small-minded villagers who by a process of natural selection and devolution have too few letters in their alphabet, banned all of the books in the local library, caught the clap from family members, swill crappy beer breakfast lunch and dinner, live off junkfood and carrion, and always vote the solid Christian Fundamentalist ticket, whether it's for the schoolboard, municipal trash collector, or president.
Bless their hearts.

We'll never visit there, because of the people in trailer parks outside of town who engage in cannibalism. They also vote the solid Christian Fundamentalist ticket, y'all.

But we love closet queens, all butch and hyper masculine during daylight.

If you can say 'Tom of Finland', you can say 'good ole boy'.
Our favourite music is resentful Country Western.
Well, besides Disco, that is.
And hymns.


Ooh, sexy, bitches.


Say 'hi' to Gooper and the no-neck monsters, y'all.



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IT WAS PROBABLY THE CAT

One of the individuals whom I see every weekend comes by with a dog. He's not a one dog person, and it's probably true that the dogs are far more loyal to him than he is to them.
He is not despicable. Despite being a Republican.
I'm basing that assessment on the dogs.
The dogs are decent people.


There was a small dog at work yesterday who looked at me with great sadness while I ate my lunch. I thought it was because he was wondering why I did not share my food, so I got him a dog biscuit, but now I'm inclined to think it was because he couldn't chew much. The sadness may have been caused by regret. A sorrowful longing for crunch and shred and texture.

Sorry, Rover, what I'm eating came from the convenience store. It was made for white people. If you found crunch and shred and texture in it, it would disconcert you.
It's lowest common denominator, total suburban.
Blah enough to be Iowa.

Who knows, maybe I should have shared it with him. He might have liked it.

A cat, however, would have ripped it out of my grasp at an opportune moment, tried to chew it, and then spat it out as being too bizarrely bland for consumption. It's sole saving grace was that the package said "Best By Tuesday March 11".

This morning I saw some lovely steamed fatty pork meatballs after getting my congee, and regretted that unlike a feline's, my stomach isn't infinitely capacious. They looked yummy.
I'm guessing they had ginger, black mushroom, and water chestnut in them.
Sort of like 'Lions' Heads', but without the cabbage.
Very much not Iowa.


If that eatery had a cat on the premises it would probably be a chonker.
Best fed cat for miles. A gravitastic furry gourmand.


I am jealous of this imaginary beast.



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TIME TO SLITHER ABOUT

Preparatorily fry up some fatty meat the night before to gasak while doomscrolling. And contemplatively eat a little too much chocolate with your hot caffeinated beverage. Then get up at dawn's early crack for coffee and a walk around the block with a pipe, after which head over to the busline downtown. Transfer to another line, walk downhill, show up forty minutes early. Which results in getting out of the office in record time so that you can head over to Chinatown for lean pork century egg congee (皮蛋瘦肉粥 'pei dan sau yiuk juk').
With a fried dough stick (油條 'yau tiu').

And after that you have a good long smoke, big bowl of tobacco. This is the best way to cap an appointment with your cardiologist. which has necessitated being in close proximity to other human beings at an ungodly hour which you did not want on public transit.

This is my bus! I found it! Go away!
Mentally shake stick at everyone.
Then judge them by their shoes.
Because you're looking down.
Avoiding all eye contact.

If it's before ten in the morning it is too early for eye contact.

Too much human interaction that early leads to weltschmertz, existenzangst, identitätskrise, zweifelhaft, und ein tiefes bedürfnis nach reinheit.

The congee was very good. The pieces of yautiu retained a nice crispity flakiness even after submersion. The pipe afterwards was divine. Oh yeah, the medical appointment went well. I'm not dead yet. And the word "normal" was used several times.



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STIMULATING THOUGHTS ABOUT CHEMISTRY

"So it's agreed then? In June we all make Molotov Cocktails." No one voiced disagreement as they were all far too busy talking over each other and sharing opinions, or pouring wine and swilling Scotch. Sadly, there were no bready substances for the charcuterie, which would have sopped up some of the excess and slowed absorption. And I was probably the most attentive member seeing as I was drinking coffee instead of hitting the booze. The resident Dutchman has to stay alert. It's how we ended up brutally exploiting the world for so long while maintaining a pretence of being liberal humanists and ever so civilized.

Well, that last isn't a pretence. We actually are. We've never been ruled by an orange puke bucket and his coterie of paranoid numskulls. Just remember that.

When I asked one of the gentlemen present what his overseas relatives were thinking about this clownshow, he informed me that they were half shitting themselves over what the president would do, and half pissing themselves laughing.

This blogger is absolutely in favour of well-functioning eliminative processes.
I'm thinking more of incendiary methods and tactics.
Not biological functions.

Most of the boys agreed with my assessment that violent riots were both a reasonable option under certain circumstances as well as a great likelihood by summer. And that all markings of an attempted Fascist take-over are swinging into place, albeit quite clumsily and amateurish because the cabal are stupid people, raging paranoid egomaniacs, and absolutely incapable of all being on the same page or even concerted co-operation with their fellow dingbats.

It's not subtle. But many people are stupid and credulous.
As well as adulant or fellow travelers.


Other matters that we discussed were Willmer pipes, Carolina Red, Fribourg & Treyer, Kapp & Peterson and green wood dye (not colour-fast), stem materials, the addition of Perique. Plus terpeneols, carotenoids, and tannins. That last in connection with iron acetate, and staining wood. Briar, after curing, is very low in tannins, unlike for instance oak.
So very strong bitter black tea as a pre-coat comes to mind.



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SINGLEMINDED IN A WAY

Daylight savings time starts today. Do you feel good about that? One of my friends who dresses snazzy and works in a related field back East doesn't. He's on record as ranting about it. While wearing an elegant silk cravatte and holding a cocktail.

Somehow, I feel, being snappily gitted out and slightly snockered adds to the effect.

Personally I rather like daylight savings time. Real progress. Life seems so much better when there is more day to the day. Although stepping out for that first smoke after coffee is, for a week or two, a bleaker and meaner event. I have, naturally, already picked out the pipes that go in my bag for the working day. And I realize that I will need to decide which pipes I take with me tomorrow morning when I head to my cardiologists appointment tomorrow morning, at the crack of dawn or thereabouts. Very early. Key thing will be remembering how to get into the men's room at the hospital. Because the coffee will be heading towards the bladder at the time it's over and I don't like clenching for the entire busride back.

Men of a certain vintage are, like women at almost any age, keenly cognizant of clean bathrooms in the city. We don't mind going on trips or jaunts, but we'll wonder if there is a clean bathroom at the end of the journey. If we doubt that there is one there, we'll research the vicinity of the destination in ever wider internet circles on the internet and figure out to the minute precisely how long it takes to get from point A to point Pee.

We'll keep conversations short lest they impact our appointment with mister Loo.
"Yes yes, that's fascinating", we'll say, "but I need to be somewhere".
Unlike young people we don't need our cellphone.
Not for that; too busy.


Indeed, your kid is cute, your dog is nice, and we admire your new car.
But we have an urgent thing to attend to elsewhere.


Unlike the fairer gender we intend to be entirely alone at that time.
Gwan, piss off.



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OFF THE CLIFF

One of the fossils pissed off another fossil by sending him something about transgender mice. He was vocal about it. Darn well dyspeptic. So the question had to be asked: "are these transgender mice in the room with us now?" "Can you point out on this dummy where the mice hurt you?" At which point the dummy piped up in protest. "Heyyy!!!"
"Oops, sorry Danny, I thought you were out of it again."

Additionally, I may have suggested that we should post facto rename the Enola Gay. Enola of America. And New Mexico should henceforth be called New Of America.

I encourage dyspepsia in select people.

If I had my druthers valium would be given to many of these elderly Republican gentlemen before I see them, and laxatives administered after they leave to keep them properly drained. There is no reason not to put them on a rigorous schedule to keep from inconveniencing the worthwile human beings around them. Also, I firmly believe in hosing them down regularly. Years ago the first impression I got of one of them was the mess after he spilled his soup, and another had a long screaming match with a third. They've become worse since then.

No, these people are not fully functional. And yes, they vote.
Which is almighty unfortunate.




You know, there was a period when we had friends among the nations of the world.
Quite a few of them were allies and even respected us.

Now every one thinks we're batshit insane.




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SAWDUST AND GREASE

The attentive person has mental checklists, which contribute to keeping the mind active and flexible. And only if they are neurotic to the point of anal or obsessive are there acronyms and mnemonics. I am as you know not anal or obsessive. So nothing rhymes or sounds neat. Pills, coffee, pipe smoke. Coffee again, shave, shower. Get dressed. Front door keys and lighter, work keys and coins less whole quarters in pairs so that the laundry money increases by half dollars. Four pipes, pouch of pipe tobaco, pill container refilled and into pipe box, box in bag, throat lozenges, ear twiddly, bus card, extra smokeables and teabags, check burners on stove. Teevee room off, kitchen, bedroom, corner light in hallway, and bathroom also off.
Did I forget anything? Lock the door behind me, walk to where I catch the bus.
Count driverless taxis, tykes, bums, dogs, and regular faces en-route.
See? Not obsessive. Just well-ordered and logical.

Then I check for work keys and bus pass again.
Go over the entire list mentally.
Re-remember my pills.
Continue count.

This is all normal and well-ordered. The disorganized person rushes out the house in a mad panic, then remembers that he or she left the stove on and the water running.

The only thing that's missing is a sound breakfast, which they tell me is the most important meal of the day, and must not be missed in the well-ordered American Protestant universe, it's sinful. Bacon, eggs, bowl of porridge, hashbrowns, orange juice, fruit, and coffee.

That's all a bit much. I'm not surprised most people are idiots for half the day. Their guts are draining all the oxygen rich blood from other parts like the brains and demanding all the attention.

Caffeine, nicotine, and highly refined sugar.
That is quite sufficient.



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PROLONGED RANTS

While I was eating I listened to the animated talk from several tables away. The retired busdriver, who six years ago had spoken at length praisefully about the Gung Chaan Tong (Communist Party) did not mention them even once in his lengthy loud discourse, though he did reference Dak Long Pou (Tong Naap Dak) and the Gung Wo Tong (Republican Party). The word Mei Gwok came up several times. That went on, back and forth, for a good twenty minutes. The guy resembling an elongated frog finally got the conversation onto cigarettes (yin jai) which were a potent source of government revenue as well as unhealthy and give you bad breath. He too was repetitive and long-winded. And loud.
All seven of them were long and loud.

I knew that this was going to happen. That's why I sat several tables away.
Also, I had no wish whatsoever to be dragged into the conversation.
Trust me, I know nothing about any of that. Not a thing.
I'm just an innocent little white guy.
Eating chicken curry.

Say, this is quite good!

While smoking a pipe afterwards I marvelled over several non-Chinese goobers passing by, as well as a little missy devouring an ice cream bar. In this horrid weather. The idiot hippie wearing shorts and a colourful tropical shirt was explicable -- probably too stoned and crazy to feel anything -- but the young lady eating a frozen dessert made no sense at all. Ma'am, it's cold. Damned well arctic. So frigid frigid frigid. What the heck is wrong with you?

Does your mother know you're doing that?
Oh, she's right next to you.
Never mind.

Sometimes what Chinese people consider a mid afternoon snack that won't spoil your appetite for dinner is baffling. I suppose if you eat it standing up in freezing wind it doesn't count. Good thing my questions were strictly an internal query, not actually voiced.

Girls snarfing cream ice pandas do NOT need to hear me doubting their sanity.
I had multiple layers on under my coat and I was freezing.
It was so cold, so horribly cold.
Snow weasels.



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VISITORS FROM CHUMBUCKET

My plan today is to get out of the house relatively early for chores and lunch, then relax with my pipe in the alleyways, avoiding the tourists. Simple. Some tourists are chuckleheads from the red states. Bugger hospitality, life is too short to deal with those people. As I understand it, they've decided to shorten the alphabet in those places because they hardly ever need it, and Pi shall henceforth be three, no more no less. Because three is easier to use in calculations than 3.14159265358979323846264 .....

3.14159265358979323 .....
3.1415926535897 .....
3.141592653 .....
3.14159 .....


All school children need is Jesus anyway, and not vaccines or lunches.
Or anything that might interfere with a football scholarship.

If I didn't live in the United States I would sneer at it.

Instead I smile tolerantly and pretend everything is okay.


Also, this weather is getting to me. It was warmish, now it's cold again, and when the wind picks up it feels like it's freezing. Yes, I know it's totally awful elsewhere, but I'm fine with that. Those are parts of the country that I don't care about that should sink into the ocean anyway.
We're not all in this together. Recent news proves that.
Those savages don't deserve weather!



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All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
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