KING'S GLOOP

As you would expect, well-known author Stephen King is not only America's most insightful political commentator, but also a gourmet. His recipe for what to feed your kids in the basement when the wife is away is, deservedly, a classic.


STEPHEN KING'S LUNCH GLOOP

CITE:
"My kids love this. I only make it when my wife, Tabby, isn't home, She won't eat it, in fact doesn't even like to look at it."

2 cans Franco American Spaghetti (without meatballs).
1 pound cheap, greasy hamburger.

Brown hamburger in a large skillet. Add Franco American spaghetti and cook till heated through. Do not drain hamburger, or it won't be properly greasy. Burn on pan if you want - that will only improve the flavor. Serve with buttered Wonder Bread."

This is Michelin level.

Yum yum. I can just hear the lipsmacking right now.


Mind you, I've never eaten Franco American spaghetti. So I need to purchase some specialty canned food. I wonder if they have that at Trader Joe's. Also, I would use ground pork, and some chopped garlic. Plus I think this would be really stupendous with Sriracha chili sauce. The only thing that's doubtful is the buttered Wonder Bread -- does that brand even still exist? -- but ghee-drenched naan would be an adequate substitute.

I shall feast like a king.



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RABBIT RABBIT, SEPTEMBER 2025

Rabbit rabbit. It's going to be low to mid seventies today, the rest of the week will turn out a little more reasonable. So heatwise this summer is not at all bad, unlike in forsaken hellholes like Sacramento and Texas. Where people without airconditioning die. Which keeps the rents down. "Boy, you want to live among all the Christians in the badlands? Go right ahead, and say your prayers." In Texas it will hit low nineties today, in Placerville (which is just chuck-full of slope-browed rightwing rear-ends) it's going to be mid to high nineties, and in Sacramento (California's very own gateway to hell) the temperature likely will cross one hundred.

Keep praying, boys. We shall be gamboling naked and worshipping idols.
As well as smoking tonnes of pot and protesting.
We're celebrating our mildness.

Despite the Autumn Festival theme in the illustration, the actual day will be in early October this year. But in SF we're celebrating at the end of September. The seal-script above has two words, the second of which is 秋 ('chau') meaning 'Autumn'. Note that the variant above shows a sun over the fire, suggesting the seasonal aspect. The usual variant has the grain radical (秋), with fire (火) on the right. But actually, the sun (日) is a remnant of the older representation of a cricket, as attested by jiandu 簡牘 ('gaan duk') script (the writing on strips of bamboo during the Warring States period).

The earliest character meaning 'Autumn' was just the cricket.

Cute little fellow, isn't he?
Rabbit rabbit.



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YEARS OF STRUGGLE

Men my age should not wear shorts. But, sadly, they do. Especially in Marin. Hot days there are consequently a special slice of hell. I shall not describe the visuals, but leave you to imagine them in full ghastliness.

Four out of five are crazed Trumpite scum who still fully support Trump, his rabid haridans Bondi and Pirro, and wormboy Bobby. The fifth was just severely misguided, whose wife wanted him out of the house for a while.

One fellow who wasn't in shorts but is just as crazed, damned well demented, was in the backroom for nine and a half hours. Didn't eat, just huffed stogies the entire time.

Remember, boys and girls, Marin is where Karens hatch.
Your parents warned you about the place.
Hell is near the surface there.


The shorts thing is particularly galling. I am a sensitive man and do not deserve this.
It was nauseating. Fortunately I am a strong man, and can withstand rigours.

PLease understand that if I posted actual photos, I would be accused of indecency. And this is a clean family blog. I value my readers. Who are all rational humanists.
Not berserk rightwingers.


Also, on a different note, I've come up with a policy that will please everyone. Ban vaccines in Texas, and only in Texas, for ten years. Experimentally. That will make the rightwingers in the inflamed sphincter of America happy, and all the anti-vax nutballs will move there, so we will be happy because they're finally gone. Kind of like the elect being taken up at the end of times leaving the rest of us to enjoy this world in peace.

We'll check in and see how those hosebags are doing at the end of that time.



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THE TRACT I WISH TO CONSIDER ON SUNDAY

No, I do not wish to hear about your time in Botswana and how you found religion there. Your come to Jesus moment while a lion was stalking you, or the fit of shits you had because the pizza had been left on the backseat of the landrover for twelve hours, interest me not.


A full colour brochure explaining what your creed thinks of as a difficult passage in scripture simply shows that your fellow believers are rather stupid and incredibly neurotic.

Those words do not mean what you think they mean.
You are all idiots.


Kindly do not wave your childish flyer in my face.


Here's the only tract that's important:

The indigestive tract; better religion than that! Verstehen sie?

And here is the key element which may become a pain in the you know where under certain circumstances:

See the appendix? I had it removed at five thirty one Sunday morning six years ago. I did not miss church that day, neither did the surgeon. I am a disbeliever, and he is, if I remember, Jewish. Jesus had nothing to do with it, or us. Zero, zip diddly, nada, bupkes.


Feel free to believe that my appendix is safely in the arms of Jesus.
If that comforts you.


My pipe has gone out. I must relight.
It's your fault, nutball.
Jesus!



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THE ANTIMONARCHIST

My coworker is growing his grandfather's grapes. The raccoons wish to eat his grandfather's grapes. They were above the ceiling all night. This prevented him from having more than four hours sleep. Worst comes to worst, if the black pepper he's buying doesn't keep them away, he'll shoot them. I fear we will read about him in the papers: "Corte Madera resident blows holes in roof with shotgun". And then a few years later: "Corte Madera resident previously mentioned burns several dwellings witha flamethrower battling spider". I told him so. Which prompted him to mention the ant queen he had flamed recently. Which ought to cause the colony to eventually disappear. No queen, no workers ants.

So I took pains to explain that raccoons, spiders, and ants are our friends.
We should love and cherish them. They do useful stuff.
At which he sneered. A cynic.


Seeing as I live in the city, I do not have raccoons, spiders, or ants. There used to be lots of raccoons here, but our houses are not festooned with our grandfather's grapes, and they can no longer get into the garbage bins. The rats can get in, so we now have coyotes.

If you are in a San Francisco park and you see a coyote trotting past, do not be alarmed. They haven't carried off a little child yet. That we know of.

There have been times when I've wished I had a tennis ball with me to test whether coyotes have the same instincts as urban dogs. "Here Wiley, fetch!" I feel certain that coyotes have gotten a bad rap. Possibly because of the Acme corporation. Coyotes are our friends, they do useful stuff, and we should love and cherish them for the variety and excitement they bring to the urban environment.


A while back I mentioned the coyote in Portsmouth Square to my apartment mate, and she immediately worried that it presented a danger to the little old ladies who play cards there. She need not worry. Even little old ladies who are Cantonese, though tiny, are still far too large for a coyote to snap up and trot off with, and most of those little old ladies there may look fragile but they're tough as blazes. Coyotes have a keen eye for danger.
They are able to weigh the risks. They aren't stupid.


I worry about the coyotes. They do useful stuff and we should love and cherish them.
Coyotes are our friends. Free-spirited canid hippie friends.
Kind of like unfluffy foxes.


In other news, I asked Jeff if he would be protesting the fat orange pedo on Monday with everyone else, and he snarled viciously at me. I swear that the rightwing turd is rabid. Distemperate. We should probably shoot him.



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BIRD FLEW

So what the heck are "mitochondrial challenges"? Or, more precisely, what does RFK ('Bongo') Jr. mean by that phrase? In his worm-addled mind it seems to mean lack of energy and socially inept. Possibly he spends too much time in airports looking at kids. In any case, throwing a difficult term into the fray doesn't make his remarks any less berserk. The man is an evil idiot. Realistically, the only person to whom RFK ('Bongo') Jr. should give medical advice is the man with fat ankles, who looks like he could use a swim in a polluted river.

Actually, most Republican politicians deserve him as their personal physician. Things would be a whole lot better if he had been in charge of their praescription meds and healthcare ages ago. They would have died healthy.

For the rest of us, that dingbat should be nowhere near medical establishments and have nothing to do with anything health-related, because he is wrong on so many issues and clearly a shill for big dogma.

It's sad and disturbing that most of America lags behind the first world in medical care, and in many areas has worse options than much of the third world. Even in urban areas people often trust goofy juju more than real medicine.




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A MILITARY PARADE WITH POM POMS!

This blogger is seriously enjoying a Peterson pipe loaded with stoved and unstoved Virginias while considering what a shitcan this country has become in less than a year.
My heavens, this is good!

The evidence? Headlines.

1): Louisiana Republicans try to gut the Voting Rights Act
2): Capitol Rioter Killed on Jan. 6 to Receive Funeral With Military Honors in Trump-Era Reversal
3): NAACP sues state of Texas over new congressional map
4): U.S. Navy Wants to Hold a Massive Boat Parade to Cheer Up Trump
5): How Uganda has become a petri dish for the American far-right’s politics of intolerance
6): Medicaid Cuts Poised To Have Disproportionate Impact On Black Children
7): UC system says Trump's proposed budget cuts could 'devastate' scientific research
8): Maine clinics say they will have to cut services after losing Medicaid funding
9): Social Security Staffing Cuts Threaten Benefits for 69 Million Americans
10): Most parents are going into debt to provide for their kids: Study
11): Republican drugged granddaughters’ ice cream with cocaine and MDMA
12): Exiting officials give dire warning about Trump czar RFK Jr.: ‘Millions of American lives at risk’
13): CDC Director Ousted, Top Officials Resign After Vaccine Standoff With RFK Jr.
14): Controversy in Florida: Police Mobilized Against LGBTQ+ Crosswalks
15): Newsom warns Trump won’t leave White House after second term
16): Obama Judge Denies Trump Admin Request To Stop Alligator Alcatraz From Winding Down
17): Immigration Agents Arrest firefighters while they fight blaze near national park
18): Karoline Leavitt fumes over ‘despicable' move to shut down Alligator Alcatraz
19): Rev. Al Sharpton rallies for diversity and inclusion with 'March on Wall Street'
20): New COVID vaccine guidelines limit eligibility for most


Rather than despairing over Louisiana, Florida, Texas, RFK ('Bongo') Jr., and Karoline Leavitt wanting us all to go away and die, I really must commend Cornell & Diehl over their tobacco blending expertise. Fine stuff.

It quiets the mind and induces a mood of contemplation.

It's skin friendly, weight friendly, and worth its weighy in gold for the peaceful calming effect.
Good pipe tobacco should be included in every medical plan.
Staves off dementia.


Also pisses-off health nuts like the anti-vaxxers, but that's icing on the cake.



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APPLE CIDER VINEGAR

The Trump government consists of morons, incompetents, and traitors. Who were elected by, and have the full-throated support, of morons, incompetents, and traitors. Which means that when I go back to work, there are several people I shall encounter every day who make my gorge rise.

Also, what's going on under RFK ('Bongo') Jr. would, in a just world, see him and his fawning putzes lined up and shot. Sadly, that ain't gonna happen (see aforementioned morons, incompetents, and traitors).

It should not surprise you to hear that I miss the good old days of George Bush Junior. His cabinet had as many morons and incompetents, but the treason and putzery were milder.


It's not that America has dumbed down. We've always had stupid people and Christians. But we've finally empowered them. In many parts of the country gloatingly and willingly, because even though we ourselves might suffer, they promised to be savage assholes to many other people whom we resented. And they have delivered.


Waffle House meets Cracker Barrel meets Mad Max meets Deliverance.

Maybe if Operation Jade Helm had indeed been a conspiracy to take over the Great State Of Texas and imprison all those freezums-loving Repubers in FEMA camps with the assistance of United Nations forces, Dutch and Hong Kong police, and black helicopters, we would be much better off.

A substantial number of Republicans, and almost all of the teaparty, thought that that was the case. Greg Abbott pandered to those idiots and ordered the Texas State Guard to monitor the feds. Ted Cruz played to the peanut gallery on that. So did Louis Gomert.

It's a pity that it did not actually happen that way.
We'd be rid of all three of them now.
A splendid beginning.



Naturally, as a Cantonese-conversant Dutch American, I would have welcomed that. I have no use for Texas as it currently is, and would gladly turn it into a giant FEMA camp.



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THREE TIMES NINETY CUPS

Bob had gotten there before me, and endeavored to communicate his extreme ire that the small size cup was smaller than before. Which it absolutely isn't. And because I failed utterly to understand or sympathize, he ranted about it for ten minutes trying to force me to grasp that this was a crime against humanity. Then Stephen arrived, and I heard it all over again.

When Russel got there the subject changed to prime rib. He says he should have gotten the medium rare. Which is fascinating oh boy yes totally but at least we were no longer talking about the cups.

We also talked about Fong Fong, which was before my time. Right where the Peking Bazaar is now on Grant, just past Clay Street toward Jackson. It existed from 1935 to 1974.
Ice creams, sodas, floats, sandwiches, juices.
Hamburgers and hot dogs.


This related in some way to mooncakes.


Hello, guys? That was over fifty years ago. Many of the people we know had not even been born then. Even though the veal cutlets, gravied swiss steaks, and baked porchop-rices were SO much better. Good lunch counter chow is NOT conducive to friends and acquaintances being alive at that time. Don't know what it is. Bob mentioned inflation. Perhaps that's why.

It was too warm today to even think of Swiss steaks with gravy. Naturally, when I got home, my legs hurt like hell (circulatory issues) and I started thinking about water-borne illnesses. As one would.

Such thing were much more common in the old days. No doubt that is what it meant by the phrase "a kinder, gentler time". When you're exhausted from dehydration and stomach cramps, you lack the energy to be a rightwing Alpha-male hosebag or influencer.


Heck, RFK ('Bongo') Jr. hadn't even graduated from college yet.
And was years away from wishing us all dead.
Still a stupid teenager.

Now just stupid.



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DON'T WIG-OUT, JUST MOVE ALONG

Woke up this morning to the statement that birds are quite a bit more interesting than Dutch American males, why everybody wants to look at them, much more than some antiquated geezer, heavens, why the thought even. That goes double for dead Hollanders! This per a voice from the kitchen asking me to please move two of the pictures in the teevee room.
Self portrait of Vincent Van Gogh BEHIND the etching of a vulture.
So that we can see the handsome bird.

Far be it from me to disagree with a household consensus. Majority opinion.
Domestic tranquility is my watchword.
I have done it.


Probably the most vibrant data from recent reading is that necrotizing fasciitis can affect all parts of the corpus, but it is much more common in the extremities, perineum, and genitals.
Vibrio vulnificus, the causative agent, is present in tidal pools, estuaries, and at the beach. One more reason to avoid those places. It is related to the cholera bacterium, and likewise has a cell envelope consisting of a thin peptidoglycan cell wall between two membranes.
Most often infections will cause severe abdominal pain.
It can become quite nasty.

Key words: invasive sepsis, septic shock, and necrotizing infections.
Probably best to avoid raw oysters and undercooked fish.
Do not swim with open wounds in warmer waters.
Women are slightly less at risk.

Estrogen may have some protective effect. No, I shall not share that datum with my apartment mate. It might give her a false sense of confidence.
It has not been proven yet, in any case.

One of the people with whom I associate likes to head to the beach on sunny days with his spouse. Shan't mention any of this to him, or his significant other either, the next time I see him, as deaths from vibrio vulnificus are fairly rare, and occur more often in warmer waters further south. Neither of them are environmentally paranoid and likely to panic.

Severe flooding after hurricanes increases infection risk.
Florida and Louisiana have had more cases.

Global climate change has probably been the reason why the border zone of infections has moved north about thirty miles each year along the East Coast. And per the Rightwingers, global warming doesn't exist. I sincerely doubt that many rightwingers can read, or are even aware of scientific articles and disease statistics. Besides, science, common sense, and all health precautions, are strictly for woke lefties. Red-blooded Americans don't need that.


Nor will I myself actually worry about it, anyway.

I don't swim in the Gulf Of Trump.



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SOMEWHAT RELATING TO FOOD

There are German tourists in town. The splendid thing about Germans is that one can be reasonably certain there won't be any banjo music, and they've almost certainly seen tall buildings before. Plus they aren't loud. Americans from the interior, I don't know.

Interior Americans are large, walk three or four abreast, slowly, shouting. Plus if they can't eat at Cracker Barrel they tend to be unhappy. And we don't even have a Waffle House where they can scream and throw things.

The American tourists passing by while I was smoking my pipe while in Chinatown tonight were audible an entire blocklength before they waddled into view. The Germans could not actually be heard till they were almost in front of me. They were clearly speaking German, but they were melodiously softspoken, not screechy.


Also, Germans do not mind that we don't have civilized restaurants like Cracker Barrel and Waffle House. Sadly, wir haben auch nicht einmal einen Bratwurst- und Bierbunker.
Wir sind trostlos (nous sommes désolés).

We do have a mighty fine hamburger joint at the end of the street.
It's almost as good. And there's imported beer there.
Not just the inferior American swill.
Budweiser, Coors, Miller.

Having had a meal earlier while it was still light outside, I didn't need a burger. A plate of rice, something sautéed and sauced, and sambal. But if I were to have a burger it would be there. With some Sriracha. The breakfast, lunch, and dinner of champions.

To reward myself for being a good little patient and dutifully picking up my refills, I purchased some 五葉神 ciggies while in Chinatown. Actually, I would have gotten them anyhow. I relish being able to buy them so close to the hospital and so "far from the revenuers".
Many of the other patients there also like them.
As does my doctor's father.

By the time the bookseller arrived I had finished smoking my pipe. During our "pubcrawl" I downed three cups of tea. So I'm quite awake now, and wondering if I should load another bowl. It's very pleasant outside, there are no loonies, and not even the usual wandering eccentrics. Also, uphill from Polk Street there are no drunks.



One thing particularly of note: Anthony Bourdain on the telly at the bar, digging into a roast pig in the Philippines. It's been ages since I've had Filipino food. Which is very good.
It's not just the lovely lumpia your office auntie brings in.



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TAHOE ROULETTE

Three related bacteria are in some ways too familiar to human beings: Yersinia Enterocolitica causes yersiniosis, an animal-borne disease occurring also in humans. Most creatures recover from the disease and become carriers, potential sources of contagion showing no signs of illness. The symptoms often include minor inflammation of the lower intestinal tract, sometimes with loose stool. It doesn't last too long, and is over fairly soon. Consult your veterinary physician. Yersinia Pseudotuberculosis, occuring in both humans and animals, marked by fever and abdominal pain. Called Izumi Fever or Far East scarlet-like Fever. Lasts one to three weeks. It's particularly risky for the immuno compromised, and it may require treatment with antibiotics such as ampicillin, aminoglycosides, tetracycline, et autres. Please consult your doctor. And lastly, Yersinia Pestis, which is an over-achiever, the star player of the family, responsible for the plague and mass-deaths, as well as lessening the tourist impact in the Lake Tahoe area. Get help. Seriously.

The plague is now most common in forsaken hellholes like the Congo, Madagascar, Peru, and Nevada. Rodents are often the carriers; marmots, prairie dogs, and rats.
The Brown Rat, a friendly animal, often has fleas that are infected.
Infected humans can spread it through respiratory droplets.
Asymptomatic Republicans will through procreation.
They're often overly friendly, like Mormons.
Avoid all bars in the Tahoe area.
As well as missionaries.
And churches.

This blogger likes rats. They're intelligent and sociable.
Republicans, overwhelmingly, aren't,

Rats make clever and affectionate pets.
Republicans do not.


I cannot say enough about Republicans.



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THE MAJESTIC GASTROTICH!

Who is that galloping across the fine sedimentary bottom, leaping over algae and presumably roaring its fierce battle cry? Why, it's the imposing gastrotich!
I've never seen anything like it!

Actually, I haven't. It's too small. They are seldom more than a millimetre. And I am seldom focused on sedimentary garbage at the bottom of streams and rivers. Besides, the little fellas do not hold up large signs saying "hey look at me" or slogans of a revolutionary nature. And although they suck mightily (their muscular pharynx 'inhaling' minute organic particles for food), I have never noticed them, because I rarely visit slow moving bodies of water, my reading specs aren't strong enough for something that tiny, I've never actually looked for them, and I believe they might be rather shy.

While I was drawing this one (I'll call him 'Jack'), a person identifying herself as "Meghan from PGE" called. She too is rather shy; that probably wasn't her actual name OR real employer (she had a heavy Indian accent), and when I spoke in Cantonese asking her why she had called, she hung up. Many Indian phone scammers are fearful of Cantonese.
It flummoxes them. They don't know what to do next.

With precisely three exceptions, all phone calls I receive are spam. The three exceptions are, in fact, Cantonese language familiar individuals, who would likely interrupt me to mention cardiologists appointments, regular care physician's appointments down at the clinic or something else health care provider related, or my apartment mate off-site possibly reminding me of something medically connected or suggesting impending doom.

Many gastrotiches are less than a tenth of a millimetre long. So adding a banana for scale, as is the American standard, would be somewhat ridiculous. Besides, bananas are not usually placed at the bottom of streams. So Americans looking at this will no doubt be baffled. Indian scam artists, smarter than the average American, would be confused at seeing the banana and consider the Americans stupid and wasteful for putting it there.


I am not berserk. Therefore I shall NOT add the banana.


Someone on social media mentioned the gastrotich. Which spurred my sudden interest and the drawing of the illustration above. I do not normally consider the gastrotich. And do not want one as a pet.


Another internet poster mentioned Phoenician inscriptions in Cyprus. In connection with a chart of Semitic languages ancient and modern. Which naturally caused a dumpster fire, because the internet has a large population of strongly opinionated morons.
I did not feel like illustrating that.




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THE PASSIVE SCENERY

Recently I realized that it's only a matter of time before there's a local shooting incident involving unpleasant Republicans whacked in mid-gibber and some poor shmo who has been insufficiently coopted into the present status-quo. Which favours perpetually indignant Karens and prosperous and repressivly-inclined rightwing dickwads. And you know something? If it involves Marinites, I really will not care.
I am ever less vested in their weal or woe.

The other day I saw a suburban frump going full ranting middle-class bitch on a convenience store clerk over misprinted prices on her off-brand cheap ciggies. She was infuriated, it was an outrage, why this is fraud, I'm coming in on Monday to talk to your manager!

The clerk is paid so outrageously little that he really doesn't care. The customers there are all hosebags, and the manager probably doesn't particularly care either. If your entire suburban community goes up in flames during the wildfires, that's probably fine with them too. You are all a bunch of sexual organs. Okay?

Or, to put that in terms Marinites can understand: Your aura has a dark cast to it, and you should have some more apple cider vinegar and manuka honey. And please purchase the all-organic natural and good for your spirituality brand of cigarettes instead.

Eight thirty in the morning when I'm on my way to work is far too early to see some middle-class bag of excrement losing her entitled shiznit on someone who just works there.
He doesn't give a damn'. I don't give a damn'. None of us give a damn'.
And sadly, none of us will ever be soccer moms.

So, as a counter-point, here are some landscapes.

Dusk in Northern Europe. Please imagine bovines in the distance.

Hillside in Northern California. There are bovines in the distance.

The North Coast. No bovines. They can't swim. There is no grass.

The presence, or absence, of bovines is limited purely by your imagination. If you think of it, they will be there. There are bovines all around us. Somewhere, in a direct line from where you are standing, there are bovines. It may be one mile. Or over one hundred miles, even one or two thousand. There are bovines literally everywhere.

Miserable cheese comes from unhappy cows, unhappy cows come from Mill Valley.



A day off. I'm safely in San Francisco. Where there are no cows.
I am consequently not thinking of cows at the moment.
Marin County kan me gestolen worden.



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AMBULATORY

It was not actually a Holstein cow bicycling across the intersection upside down, but a some fellow with black and white clothes and a pink backpack. Life, sadly, is not at all like a Gary Larson Farside cartoon. But it should be. Bicycling cows would make it more engaging, and milk would probably be impossibly expensive. Because, of course, the cows would not work for peanuts anymore.

But other than that, it was the usual walk with a pipe in my mouth.
Good tobacco, with piles of dog pooh, and grey dawn.
The caffeine slowly taking over.

Many of my routines could be enlivened by cows. It has been ages since I've seen cattle. Outside of a plate. In Valkenswaard, a ten or fifteen minute bicycle ride would bring me easily within view of cows, because the centre of town was actually three streets away from the southern edge; most of the town lay north and eastwards. My grammar school was two blocks from the beginning of farmland.

The old railway station and the post office were considerably further away, and the sixteenth century cemetary was a bit of a hike. To get to the new school and Saint John's you had to go past there. We did not consider it ghost-ridden.

The entire place was slightly more like a Monty Python set than a Gary Larson scene.
Northern European urban industrial settlement, nearby agriculture.
Silly walks, twits, and gumbies.

On the whole I think I'd prefer people walking their pet moo-babies in the early morning to techno-yuppies with their dogs. A digestive tract terminating in a hyperactive colon on four legs, a part to sniff, a waggy bit, and parts that bark. Not always an engaging personality.

As I said, it has been several years since I saw a cow. And I rarely eat beefsteaks.



After waking up in the middle of the night, I read about disease bacilli for a while to help me fall asleep again. It didn't quite work. I am conscious of my thoughts doing queer things now because I didn't get enough rest. And I had vibrant dreams. Probably more because of the blood pressure meds than anyhting else, though. I am not infected.




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THE GORMLESS

Several of the people whom I encounter when at work are fervent fans of the rich fat orange pedophile. I do not speak with them if at all possible. Even hearing their nonsensical ranting rather turns my stomach, and as you can probably guess their discourse lacks even the intellect of a collection of sock monkeys.
Three years ago we banned the gentleman who occasionally had bathroom accidents. Just too damned senile. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

It probably should not surprise you to hear that some of my favourite creatures are, actually, sock monkeys. Remarkable creatures. And considerably more intelligent than Trump voters.


I'm off for the next few days.


One or two important tasks tomorrow, but otherwise plenty of time to look up viruses, bacteria, amoebas, and slime molds. And such things as vectors, symptoms, rates of infection, complications, medication, and fatality rates.

These are subjects which I find interesting and stimulating, but it turns out that at least one of the fellows is rather creeped out by all this. Desperate to change subjects.

Even something so innocuous as slime molds.
Which are strangely beautiful.
They have charm.


Gormish.



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THE POISONOUS SOW

Decaying stumps, logs, and rotten leaves. No, not an alternative life-style, but a home that a slime mold can love. Which I should have interjected into the conversation next to me, but I'm afraid my Mandarin just isn't good enough to stand even a chance of shutting the mainland mother haranguing her adult son over his many failings down. 绒泡黏菌属 (Physarum) as catalogued by Persoon in 1794, among the 變形蟲門 (amoebozoa).

Oh I say, old lady have you considered shoving your head into some rotten leaves? 哦，我說，老太太，你有沒有想過把你的頭埋進一些爛樹葉裡？(Ó, wǒ shuō, lǎo tàitài, nǐ yǒu méiyǒu xiǎngguò bǎ nǐ de tóu mái jìn yīxiē làn shùyè lǐ?)

Some mothers are parasites.

Some are poison.

But not my business. It's up to her patient college educated son to tell her where to get off.
I shall merely hope, fervently, that mildew eventually eats her brain.

Chinese family relationships are sometimes berserk.
Codependency enabling and toxic.

Surprisingly, the bus driver didn't holler back at her to shut the F up and stop being a bloody nuisance to the other passengers. On those crowded busrides back to the city I will still make space for passengers rather than keeping my bag on the seat. And I'll continue to pretend that I am both unable to understand a word if I have plausible deniability, and not at all bothered by some old bag ranting like a rabid dog at her relatives.


I shall be glad when the tourist season dies down.

Less chance of harpies.



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All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
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THE FAR END

The trip back to the city passed into fog a few miles before the bridge. Not cold fog. Room temperature fog. That means that somewhere inland it was hot as blazes. There were poor lost souls wandering around at the last stop before the bridge. Not freezing, but not happy. The famous sight was yet to be seen. How beastly and depressing! No visibility! Just fog.

Well, if you really want to see the bridge, you should come during Summer.
Which will be next year, I should think.

The coldest July in ober thirty years has segued seemlessly into the most lukewarm August in three decades. Quite nice.

Just for times like these there should be a coffeeshop at the northern end, with a terrace where there are tables and ashtrays. So that the pipe smokers can lurk in the Dickensian fog drifts. And let us tell no one else about it, we don't want them shutting it down because of smoking on the premises.

Tofu-snarfing wheatgerm freaks. Anti-tobacco fiends. Damned hippies.

Sadly, it must remain an unfeasable fantasy, though immensely appealing.


"Oh driver, please let me off at the forbidden café, as I must talk to an associate about cryptids."


In his groundbreaking work 'The Phenomenology of Selfness", famous Polish philosopher Wroclaw Chestenisko specifically refered to imaginary literature as a manifestation of existential angst: "to be or to be fictional is the paradigm of modern fearfulness."

All ego, he postulates, is inverted self-doubt (selbstzweifel).


I have just the pipe for that. Perfect for die vielen tiefgründigen philosophischen diskussionen as well as negotiating the purchase of a tauntaun to get me through the wastes.

According to my apartment mate, clearly humans are bound to go extinct, because they cannot deal with reality, and are a bit strange.

You know, she may be right.



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NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================