One of the main reasons for the Crusades was the reprehensible attitude of Muslim tyrants to the Christian pilgrims in the Holy Land. Having seized control over the holy places, and massacred Christians and Jews during their conquest, generations of Islamic warlords either outright forbade Christians and Jews from worshipping and visiting the sacred sites of their religions, or seized pilgrims and sold them at slave auctions.
In all, Muslim hegemony over other peoples' lands was horrific, barbaric, and rapacious.
One bright spot is the behaviour of the Turks.
Now the blight of Mohammedan bigotry and strongarmism has returned.
QUOTE:
One of Britain's premiere choirs is being prevented from performing in Bethlehem following a Palestinian protest over its scheduled performance in Israel.
The choir of Clare College, Cambridge, will sing Bach's "Christmas Oratorio" with the Israel Camerata Orchestra, but may not visit and perform in St George's Cathedral in East Jerusalem and the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, where it was invited to sing by the Anglican bishop of Jerusalem, according to Tim Frank's Jerusalem Diary published Monday by the BBC.
The choir is being stymied in its efforts to visit areas controlled by the Palestinian Authority following a letter from the London-based Palestine Solidarity Campaign asking the choir to cancel its trip to Israel, saying it would "appear indifferent to Palestinian suffering."
The Palestinian Authority then asked the bishop of Jerusalem to withdraw the choir's invitation to sing in eastern Jerusalem and Bethlehem, and informed the choir that its members would not be welcome in Bethlehem as part of the bishop's pilgrimage.
SOURCE:
http://jta.org/news/article/2009/12/22/1009853/british-choir-prevented-from-performing-in-bethlehem
A NOTE ON TOLERANCE
Let me explain some pertinent facts to you Muslims:
Israel allows you to worship at your sites within the land. Europeans allow you to construct mosques in their ancient cities (mosques which, due to modern architecture and perfectly horrid taste, are ghastly eye-sores).
Even here in America, your practices are safeguarded - contrary to what your mad mullahs and lying imams tell you, the Mohammedan religion is alive and well in Yankee-stan.
Pressuring your captive dhimmis - pardon, "native" Christians - into blackmailing the west, however, is an action entirely beyond the pale of civilized conduct.
We accept that the degenerate Wahhabis of Saudi Arabia violently discriminate against non-Muslims and non-Arabs. After all, their brigands seized Mecca and Medina nearly a century ago, and have kept the entire Muslim world over a barrel ever since. Like you, we do not expect any better from those pigs.
And no Christian or Jew would want to settle in that poxed armpit of a place.
No biggie.
But if the rest of you Muslims wish to continue our acceptance of your presence and your cult outside of your wastelands and brutal societies, you need to play by civilized rules.
That means allowing our pilgrims to visit our holy places unmolested, and unhindered.
A NOTE ON INTOLERANCE
You've already driven the Christian majority out of Bethlehem.
The Christians of Iraq, Jordan, and Egypt, all of whom represent communities far older than the Islamic umma, keep emigrating to our lands - there is no place for them under your despotic and intolerant rule.
The Jews of the Arab lands have been robbed and expelled - except for those whom you viciously slaughtered.
In Pakistan and Indonesia your rabid dogs burn down churches and lynch believers. Your thugs in Iran and Central Asia are rapists and sadists - we have for years been treated to horrific news about your treatment of Christians and Jews in those benighted places.
Yearly, the record of your brutal bigotry grows ever more horrendous.
You do know, don't you, that there are several million Muslims living in the West?
Muslims who at present are still guaranteed safety and equal rights.
Perhaps you should consider that Western hospitality is a very brittle and recent overlay on centuries of violent tendencies. That such 'tolerance' is NOT limitless. And it is NOT fundamental to our psyche.
It really must be requited.
Merry Christmas. Bitches.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
EVEN MORE ABOUT YOUNG LADIES, AND A PREDILECTION REVEALED
Another of my readers reacted somewhat adversely to my recent postings about high-school girls, suggesting that titillation ends where daled amos begins. Alas, I seem to be hitting a sour note.
I clarified that unless the girl in question is a cute bespectacled Chinese-American brainiac with grown-up tastes, she will not interest me.
Chinese-American brainiacs doing trigonometry homework, however, are just so adorable!
ADORABLE!
My significant other, Savage Kitten, is an exciting woman. She got excellent grades for algebra and geometry and other branches of the mathematical arts when she was at Lowell High School.
She is, if you will, the standard by which I judge others.
When we first met twenty years ago I looked like a young man in his late twenties, she looked like someone in her mid-teens. She was already legally of drinking age at that point, and in college.
I now look like a 47 year-old geezer (more or less), and she..... looks like a 22 year-old.
A slim twenty-two year-old. With exceptionally slender hands. And a quirky wit. She's still sharp-tongued, like she was then. Sparky.
She installed her own computer, isn't scared of technology, and understands plumbing.
She is a very smart woman. Though she doesn't think so.
PERFECT WOMEN
I have described the ideal female in detail a few times on this blog.
Shorter than me, dark-haired, round-headed. Intelligent. Above all, intelligent.
In this post, she resembles Eric Cartman from South Park, both in vocabulary and burning hunger.
[http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2008/10/if-you-dont-shut-up-ill-kick-you-in.html]
Here, she is a noodle-snarfing temptress. With raven tresses.
[http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2007/10/enough-char-siu-noodle-soup-for-two.html]
Food seems a dominant theme. That's a very Cantonese thing. Life is food, living is food. Eating is fun, eating is comfort, eating is sensual, eating is utter ecstasy.
Unless good things to eat are part of the program, you might as well forget about the company of attractive women.
FETISH
Let me confess that I do indeed have an obsession.
I love watching bright young ladies eat. It's that single-minded concentration on aromas and textures, tiny fingers tightly clenching chopsticks, lips parted, a slight blush from hot-sauce, a fully involved focus, and the deliberate exclusion of all extraneous stimuli while enjoying all the yummy tasty juicy goodness - totally angelic.
They are totally adorable.
Eyes twixt bedroom-tempting and calculating. It's that wide-awake yet narrowed look. Curious, and piqued.
Is there more food? Does it taste good? Can I eat it?
Noodle soup. Steak semi-rare. Lobster. Oysters. Little egg tarts from one of the Chinatown bakeries. Chow mein. Cheung fun. Ho-yao ngau yuk. Steamed dumplings. Deep-fried snackypoos. Cake. Pork chop and rice with a fried egg on top. Milk-tea with tapioca pearls. Chocolate biscuits. Chicken soup with noodly bits. Clay pot prawn with butter and fish paste. Lamb curry broth. Shiitake mushrooms. Bearnaise sauce.
Ooooooooooooooh!!!!!
Yes. Talk dirty to me.
I salivate, achoti, I salivate meod.
I clarified that unless the girl in question is a cute bespectacled Chinese-American brainiac with grown-up tastes, she will not interest me.
Chinese-American brainiacs doing trigonometry homework, however, are just so adorable!
ADORABLE!
My significant other, Savage Kitten, is an exciting woman. She got excellent grades for algebra and geometry and other branches of the mathematical arts when she was at Lowell High School.
She is, if you will, the standard by which I judge others.
When we first met twenty years ago I looked like a young man in his late twenties, she looked like someone in her mid-teens. She was already legally of drinking age at that point, and in college.
I now look like a 47 year-old geezer (more or less), and she..... looks like a 22 year-old.
A slim twenty-two year-old. With exceptionally slender hands. And a quirky wit. She's still sharp-tongued, like she was then. Sparky.
She installed her own computer, isn't scared of technology, and understands plumbing.
She is a very smart woman. Though she doesn't think so.
PERFECT WOMEN
I have described the ideal female in detail a few times on this blog.
Shorter than me, dark-haired, round-headed. Intelligent. Above all, intelligent.
In this post, she resembles Eric Cartman from South Park, both in vocabulary and burning hunger.
[http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2008/10/if-you-dont-shut-up-ill-kick-you-in.html]
Here, she is a noodle-snarfing temptress. With raven tresses.
[http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2007/10/enough-char-siu-noodle-soup-for-two.html]
Food seems a dominant theme. That's a very Cantonese thing. Life is food, living is food. Eating is fun, eating is comfort, eating is sensual, eating is utter ecstasy.
Unless good things to eat are part of the program, you might as well forget about the company of attractive women.
FETISH
Let me confess that I do indeed have an obsession.
I love watching bright young ladies eat. It's that single-minded concentration on aromas and textures, tiny fingers tightly clenching chopsticks, lips parted, a slight blush from hot-sauce, a fully involved focus, and the deliberate exclusion of all extraneous stimuli while enjoying all the yummy tasty juicy goodness - totally angelic.
They are totally adorable.
Eyes twixt bedroom-tempting and calculating. It's that wide-awake yet narrowed look. Curious, and piqued.
Is there more food? Does it taste good? Can I eat it?
Noodle soup. Steak semi-rare. Lobster. Oysters. Little egg tarts from one of the Chinatown bakeries. Chow mein. Cheung fun. Ho-yao ngau yuk. Steamed dumplings. Deep-fried snackypoos. Cake. Pork chop and rice with a fried egg on top. Milk-tea with tapioca pearls. Chocolate biscuits. Chicken soup with noodly bits. Clay pot prawn with butter and fish paste. Lamb curry broth. Shiitake mushrooms. Bearnaise sauce.
Ooooooooooooooh!!!!!
Yes. Talk dirty to me.
I salivate, achoti, I salivate meod.
Monday, December 21, 2009
HIGH SCHOOL GIRLS, NOW MUCH MORE ZESTY!
One of my friends read Friday's post about high school girls and slutty behaviour (HERE) and was creeped out. Totally! Creeped!! Out!!!
She thinks it's quite my most perverted post yet, and worries about my sanity.
Can I be trusted around children? Probably not.
Well... Dos iz super uber affen geil. Doch. Meeeeeeenshh!!
Even though the point of the post was that behaving like a well-brought-up young lady could lead to being treated like a well-brought-up young lady - in other words, like an adult, or like someone worthy of respect and consideration - apparently my focus on HIGH SCHOOL GIRLS was disturbing.
YOU TOO
So, for all of you college grads, illiterate drunks, and senescent old trailer park reptiles, if you lot ALSO act like well-brought-up young ladies, there is a very good chance that you too will be treated as such.
No questions asked.
Not by me.
CHOICE BEVERAGES FOR YOUNG PERSONS
In the meantime, here are several recipes for froofy drinks at the illegal drinking hole I intend to open across the street from Lowell High School, in order to attract the ever-so-cute brainiacs who study there.
Winsome bespectacled academic damsels!
Charming and so stimulating. Oooooh!
Short, sweet, with sparkling eyes.
They NEED cocktails!
Come here, little miss, would you like a drinkie?
1.
PINK PERFECTION
3 oz gin.
2 oz Apricot Brandy.
2 oz lemon juice.
Two large dashes of grenadine.
Shake over ice and strain into a cocktail glass.
2.
RUBY BLAZE
1 oz Vodka.
1 oz Cherry Brandy.
1 oz Noilly Pratt.
Small dash lime juice.
Small dash orange juice.
3 drops Angostura.
Shake over ice and strain into a cocktail glass.
Add sliced lime and orange on the rim.
3.
GREEN EYES
3 oz Vodka.
2 oz Blue Curacao.
4 oz Orange juice.
1 oz Lime cordial.
Put rocks in a pint glass. Pour in, in order given.
Garnish with an orange slice.
4.
BLUE FIZZ
1 oz Blue Curacao.
Pour into a champagne flute, top up with iced champagne.
5.
APRICOT SOUR
2 oz Apricot Brandy.
1 oz Lime juice.
Half oz Orange juice.
Half oz simple syrup.
Shake with ice, strain into a cocktail glass.
Add a cherry and a lemon peel.
6.
COPPER CAMEL1 oz Bailey's Irish cream.
1 oz butterscotch schnapps.
Put ice in a lowball glass ('Old Fashioned Glass'), then pour in Baileys and schnapps in order given.
7.
THE HENRY DARGER
2 oz Bourbon.
Heavy dash grenadine.
Three drops Angostura.
Over ice in a highball glass. Top with ginger ale.
Add a cherry, a bendy straw, and an umbrella.
8.
FLUFFY DOGOne ounce Cointreau orange liqueur.
One ounce Bailey's Irish cream.
Shake over ice and strain into a cocktail glass.
9.
RUM FLUFF
Two ounces rum.
Two ounces orange juice.
One ounce crème de cassis.
Dash of grenadine.
Shake over ice and strain into a lowball glass. Garnish with a slice of lemon.
10.
MARBLE CAKE SHOT
1 oz each: vodka, crème de vanilla and crème de cacao.
Shake over ice and pour. Garnish with chocolate shavings.
11.
PINK LADY
1 oz shot gin.
Half oz grenadine.
2 oz cream.
Shake over ice and strain into a cocktail glass.
Garnish with a cherry.
12.
GRASSHOPPER
1 oz green crème de menthe.
1 oz crème de cacao (clear preferred).
1 oz heavy cream.
Shake over ice and strain into a cocktail glass.
13.
WHITE COTTON PANTIES
1 oz butterscotch schnapps.
1 oz vanilla vodka.
Shake over ice, pour into a cocktail glass, and garnish with a cherry.
All long drinks will be served with Sanrio swizzle sticks.
THE HAPPY KITTENS LOUNGE
A clean well lighted place for doing your algebra and trigonometry homework.
Comfy chairs and divans for reclining. Big pillows.
Soft classical music.
No boys allowed.
Just knock on the door, and tell them 'Bad Batz Maru' sent you.
Welcome.
There's a heated smoking patio, with heavy glass ashtrays, and a selection of cigarillos.
The spacious powder room has lavender soap, complimentary lotions, and perfume samples.
Chewing gum and strong coffee available at the bar, for when you need to go home.
Refresh yourself.
She thinks it's quite my most perverted post yet, and worries about my sanity.
Can I be trusted around children? Probably not.
Well... Dos iz super uber affen geil. Doch. Meeeeeeenshh!!
Even though the point of the post was that behaving like a well-brought-up young lady could lead to being treated like a well-brought-up young lady - in other words, like an adult, or like someone worthy of respect and consideration - apparently my focus on HIGH SCHOOL GIRLS was disturbing.
YOU TOO
So, for all of you college grads, illiterate drunks, and senescent old trailer park reptiles, if you lot ALSO act like well-brought-up young ladies, there is a very good chance that you too will be treated as such.
No questions asked.
Not by me.
CHOICE BEVERAGES FOR YOUNG PERSONS
In the meantime, here are several recipes for froofy drinks at the illegal drinking hole I intend to open across the street from Lowell High School, in order to attract the ever-so-cute brainiacs who study there.
Winsome bespectacled academic damsels!
Charming and so stimulating. Oooooh!
Short, sweet, with sparkling eyes.
They NEED cocktails!
Come here, little miss, would you like a drinkie?
1.
PINK PERFECTION
3 oz gin.
2 oz Apricot Brandy.
2 oz lemon juice.
Two large dashes of grenadine.
Shake over ice and strain into a cocktail glass.
2.
RUBY BLAZE
1 oz Vodka.
1 oz Cherry Brandy.
1 oz Noilly Pratt.
Small dash lime juice.
Small dash orange juice.
3 drops Angostura.
Shake over ice and strain into a cocktail glass.
Add sliced lime and orange on the rim.
3.
GREEN EYES
3 oz Vodka.
2 oz Blue Curacao.
4 oz Orange juice.
1 oz Lime cordial.
Put rocks in a pint glass. Pour in, in order given.
Garnish with an orange slice.
4.
BLUE FIZZ
1 oz Blue Curacao.
Pour into a champagne flute, top up with iced champagne.
5.
APRICOT SOUR
2 oz Apricot Brandy.
1 oz Lime juice.
Half oz Orange juice.
Half oz simple syrup.
Shake with ice, strain into a cocktail glass.
Add a cherry and a lemon peel.
6.
COPPER CAMEL1 oz Bailey's Irish cream.
1 oz butterscotch schnapps.
Put ice in a lowball glass ('Old Fashioned Glass'), then pour in Baileys and schnapps in order given.
7.
THE HENRY DARGER
2 oz Bourbon.
Heavy dash grenadine.
Three drops Angostura.
Over ice in a highball glass. Top with ginger ale.
Add a cherry, a bendy straw, and an umbrella.
8.
FLUFFY DOGOne ounce Cointreau orange liqueur.
One ounce Bailey's Irish cream.
Shake over ice and strain into a cocktail glass.
9.
RUM FLUFF
Two ounces rum.
Two ounces orange juice.
One ounce crème de cassis.
Dash of grenadine.
Shake over ice and strain into a lowball glass. Garnish with a slice of lemon.
10.
MARBLE CAKE SHOT
1 oz each: vodka, crème de vanilla and crème de cacao.
Shake over ice and pour. Garnish with chocolate shavings.
11.
PINK LADY
1 oz shot gin.
Half oz grenadine.
2 oz cream.
Shake over ice and strain into a cocktail glass.
Garnish with a cherry.
12.
GRASSHOPPER
1 oz green crème de menthe.
1 oz crème de cacao (clear preferred).
1 oz heavy cream.
Shake over ice and strain into a cocktail glass.
13.
WHITE COTTON PANTIES
1 oz butterscotch schnapps.
1 oz vanilla vodka.
Shake over ice, pour into a cocktail glass, and garnish with a cherry.
All long drinks will be served with Sanrio swizzle sticks.
THE HAPPY KITTENS LOUNGE
A clean well lighted place for doing your algebra and trigonometry homework.
Comfy chairs and divans for reclining. Big pillows.
Soft classical music.
No boys allowed.
Just knock on the door, and tell them 'Bad Batz Maru' sent you.
Welcome.
There's a heated smoking patio, with heavy glass ashtrays, and a selection of cigarillos.
The spacious powder room has lavender soap, complimentary lotions, and perfume samples.
Chewing gum and strong coffee available at the bar, for when you need to go home.
Refresh yourself.
Friday, December 18, 2009
HIGH SCHOOL GIRLS
I have always had a soft spot for high-school girls.
Actually, I need to clarify that statement.
I have always had a soft spot for the innocence that high-school girls used to represent. Today's teenage females can seldom be called 'innocent'. Not with alcohol, pot, casual sex, too much make-up, and trollop clothing.
They are still innocent, but it just doesn't seem that way.
Yes, call me an old fart.
Back in MY day, girls still dressed to be presentable, hardly engaged in any shenanigans (many intended to remain virgins till the day they went away to college), and when they smoked or drank, they were very discrete and did so with that delightful sense of surreptitious depravity - the pleasure of getting away with something of which their parents would disapprove.
The trick was pretending non-lung-cancerous sobriety when they came home at nine, hi mom, hi dad, and walking up the stairs to their room in complete control.
If early of an evening you saw a little miss down a pot of coffee and furiously chewing gum, you knew what was going to happen. She was going home. Nine o'clock.
Quite the well-brought up young lady. How sweet.
I suspect that the parents were not fooled, but they appreciated the effort.
Nothing looks so delicious as a young girl with cheeks flushed from too much hot coffee consumed too fast. That rosy hopped to the gills on caffeine blush, and the over-stimulated sparkle to the eyes - can there be anything quite so lovely?
The enchanting after-image of the nine o'clock subterfugitive made the rest of the evening seem anti-climactic.
And you looked forward to catching another glimpse of her, perhaps at a more approachable age, having progressed from mere bud to full bloom.
I guess the equivalent for the younger generation is seeing the nipple ring that accidentally ripped the buttons off her tarty little blouse while she was shaking her booty to pimp-rap ........ but it just isn't the same.
LISTEN UP, BITCHES!
Trash talk, telling your friends that you would SO blow the class delinquent, and passing packs of condoms back and forth on the bus seriously detracts from your image.
[Oh, and that cell-phone video of you having drunken truth-or-dare sex in the parking lot really does NOT need to be shown to your classmates. It will be on the internet soon enough, where they can enjoy it as often as they want and forward it to other friends with rude comments.]
There is a great difference between the pretense of propriety and the blatant exhibitionist vulgarity of expressing a standard-format uniquely hip creative individuality.
Could you at least TRY to act like a lady?
You know, normal shoes, a clean opaque shirt that covers your abdomen, pants that fit, and, other than a discrete application of lipstick, no make-up or nail polish.
Especially no blue or black nail polish.
Also, speak properly, and avoid foul language.
It might please your parents - not that that means much to you - but all of us dirty old men certainly will appreciate it.
If you stop looking like a five-dollar hooker, we will likely invite you out to dinner.
Our treat. Nice restaurant.
We'll even make sure you get home safely by nine.
Actually, I need to clarify that statement.
I have always had a soft spot for the innocence that high-school girls used to represent. Today's teenage females can seldom be called 'innocent'. Not with alcohol, pot, casual sex, too much make-up, and trollop clothing.
They are still innocent, but it just doesn't seem that way.
Yes, call me an old fart.
Back in MY day, girls still dressed to be presentable, hardly engaged in any shenanigans (many intended to remain virgins till the day they went away to college), and when they smoked or drank, they were very discrete and did so with that delightful sense of surreptitious depravity - the pleasure of getting away with something of which their parents would disapprove.
The trick was pretending non-lung-cancerous sobriety when they came home at nine, hi mom, hi dad, and walking up the stairs to their room in complete control.
If early of an evening you saw a little miss down a pot of coffee and furiously chewing gum, you knew what was going to happen. She was going home. Nine o'clock.
Quite the well-brought up young lady. How sweet.
I suspect that the parents were not fooled, but they appreciated the effort.
Nothing looks so delicious as a young girl with cheeks flushed from too much hot coffee consumed too fast. That rosy hopped to the gills on caffeine blush, and the over-stimulated sparkle to the eyes - can there be anything quite so lovely?
The enchanting after-image of the nine o'clock subterfugitive made the rest of the evening seem anti-climactic.
And you looked forward to catching another glimpse of her, perhaps at a more approachable age, having progressed from mere bud to full bloom.
I guess the equivalent for the younger generation is seeing the nipple ring that accidentally ripped the buttons off her tarty little blouse while she was shaking her booty to pimp-rap ........ but it just isn't the same.
LISTEN UP, BITCHES!
Trash talk, telling your friends that you would SO blow the class delinquent, and passing packs of condoms back and forth on the bus seriously detracts from your image.
[Oh, and that cell-phone video of you having drunken truth-or-dare sex in the parking lot really does NOT need to be shown to your classmates. It will be on the internet soon enough, where they can enjoy it as often as they want and forward it to other friends with rude comments.]
There is a great difference between the pretense of propriety and the blatant exhibitionist vulgarity of expressing a standard-format uniquely hip creative individuality.
Could you at least TRY to act like a lady?
You know, normal shoes, a clean opaque shirt that covers your abdomen, pants that fit, and, other than a discrete application of lipstick, no make-up or nail polish.
Especially no blue or black nail polish.
Also, speak properly, and avoid foul language.
It might please your parents - not that that means much to you - but all of us dirty old men certainly will appreciate it.
If you stop looking like a five-dollar hooker, we will likely invite you out to dinner.
Our treat. Nice restaurant.
We'll even make sure you get home safely by nine.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
LEARNING CHINESE
On a mailinglist, someone commented that learning Chinese, especially the written language, was a lot harder than learning Hebrew.
It isn't.
Not a lot harder. Only a little harder.
Ivrit has the usual complement of letters and numbers that one would expect. There are probably one to two dozen other characters that really need to be learned in order to write. Plus cursive forms.
All in all, about fifty or sixty symbols.
In Chinese, there are 214 basic characters or building blocks. These are the characters that cannot be broken up into simpler characters.
All of them have meanings, by the way - they're not just sounds or scratches.
CHARACTER CONSTRUCTION
All characters consist of one or more building blocks (basics, also called radicals).
The simplest basics (the signifiers) are usually the ones by which you look a word up in the dictionary.
Dictionaries are arranged from simplest basic to most complex by stroke order and stroke count.
The stroke order starts at upper right, finishes at lower left, horizontals before verticals..... plus a few more minor rules that make sense once you start writing.
[That can be seen here: http://www.mdbg.net/chindict/chindict.php?page=radicals
A good example is this page: http://www.mdbg.net/chindict/chindict.php?cdqrad=9 which shows all the characters in that database for the ren radical (the 'basic' that means human: 人 or 亻) from simplest character (人) to most complex (儾 nàng: slow, dull; irresolute; 人 plus 22 strokes). Please go ahead and explore the Chinese-English Dictionary at your leisure: http://www.mdbg.net/chindict/chindict.php ]
There are about five hundred characters which can be analysed as pictures. These include the 214 basics. All other characters are combinations, with one element (the signifier) indicating the category of meaning (金 metalic, 木 wood, 艹 plant, 豸 beast, 言 speech, etc.) and the remaining part of the character almost always being a common phonetic element.
[For instance, all species of tree have the signifier tree (木) as part. The remainder of the character will usually be a phonetic element, yielding a combination that can be analysed as the tree with the name that sounds like the phonetic element.The metals, and many things made of metal, commonly have the eight-stroke character for gold (金), the paradigm of metals, as signifier, also with a phonetic element suggesting the pronunciation. Note that the character for gold (金) is a diagram of a mine, with a pulley at the top, an upper tunnel, and a lower tunnel, in which there may be found ingots or ores.]
PHONETIC ELEMENTS
Phonetic elements are usually a word in their own right. Some are simple constructions (in other words, the basics), others are more complex constructions of two or more characters (again, going back to the basic building blocks). Phonetic elements occur on the right-hand side, or on the bottom, of most combination characters.
There are approximately one hundred phonetics which occur so often that they become instantly recognizable. Another five hundred or so which are quite common, and about 1200 others (more or less) which are used because a homophonous phonetic was already utilized for another word constructed with the same signifier.
Some phonetic elements have been extremely stable over the past two-thousand years - what they sound like today as independent characters is reasonably close to how they sound in the various characters in which they are used phonetically, even if the pronunciations of modern Chinese are not the same as during Zhou and Han.
Others have deviated considerably. What may be pronounced as 'wo' independently can become 'wu', 'wa', 'go', or 'e'.
There are also phonetics which have pronunciations that seem to make no sense unless one figures out where everything went wrong. For instance, a character pronounced as 'yi' originally was borrowed as an abbreviation of a word pronounced 'dai', and subsequently that pronunciation was used phonetically for some characters just like the original pronunciation was used. Yi and dai are now both valid phonetic uses of that character, along with 'chi', 'de', and 'gung' - based on different borrowings and linguistic changes.
Fortunately, the really buggered-up phonetic elements are rare, and characters containing them infrequent.
SPEAKING, READING, WRITING
For most Chinese people, there is seldom an exact overlap between the spoken vocabulary and the written vocabulary.
One could be a fluent speaker with less than fluent literacy, or one might know what a character means without being able to pronounce it. Knowing what a word sounds like while being ignorant of the meaning is somewhat less common.
For almost all literate Chinese, there is a large number of characters that they know well, plus a large number of characters that they recognize when they see them but might not remember exactly how to write, as well as a number of characters of which they know only the sound or only the meaning.
Furthermore, there may be many characters which they have forgotten, or never even knew.
In some cases the meaning of a word can be deduced from the context.
Never-the-less, the dictionary is the constant companion of the reader, and rare is the literate person who has not destroyed at least one dictionary by years of use.
Not all words in the spoken language have a character assigned to them. There are slang terms, dialect words, and colloquialisms that have not entered the dictionary, as well as the usual curses and unprintabilities. In so far as they are written, the characters will be constructed along standard lines, or may simply be other characters borrowed for the purpose - context will may clear that the word is not used as it should be.
Many characters are almost never used in speech. This is because they have been replaced by other words in the last several centuries, or have only limited applicability (names for types of Zhou bronze vessels being a good example), or because they sound so much like other words in the modern pronounciation that they would be confusing. For instance, there are well over five dozen characters pronounced 'shi'. Even with different tones mistakes are possible.
There are some characters which represent concepts that in speech are given with two-syllable combinations - the single syllable character may still be used in writing, but its use in speech would not be understood.
NECESSARY VOCABULARY
To read the newspaper, about three thousand characters are sufficient. Almost all words are either single syllables written by one of these characters, or combination words using two or more.
To read technical literature, one might need an additional few hundred or so words, depending on the field.
For the poetry of the T'ang (唐) and Sung (宋) dynasty periods, about fifteen hundred more characters would be needed, because the language has changed a bit since then.
For the classics from the Zhou (周) and Han (漢) era, perhaps another thousand words in addition to the vocabulary necessary for the poems.
If one has mastered about four to five thousand characters, one should have little problems reading Chinese for enjoyment or scholarly purposes.
With a minimum of around a thousand, one can easily figure out menus, product and store names, street signs, and simple texts.
With less than five hundred characters, one is merely a pretentious white person capable of boring other white people with the mysterioso beauty and meaningfulness of it all - while irritating Chinese people nearly beyond measure.
Even with a reasonably full vocabulary (4 to 5 thousand characters) one will not be Chinese unless one started out that way - one will still be a foreigner looking through the window, albeit a completely literate one.
This is not bad at all, and often it is far better than being a Chinese person, as one gets full credit for the effort expended and the result achieved. Much more so than if you looked Asian.
Most of the characters you will ever need are used so often, and in so many ways, that it is not hard to remember them. You will see them so frequently that once you have learned what they mean and how they are pronounced that knowledge will become instinctive.
Many characters can be learned by their similarity to others within a meaning category - tree types, metals, etcetera.
Some characters are so simple, being no more than half a dozen strokes, that you cannot avoid learning them.
A concerted effort to memorize even as few as a score of characters a day would yield a vocabulary more than sufficient to read the newspaper within the year.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
APPENDIX
In November 2007 I wrote a post with transliterations and translations of three T'ang poems:
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2007/11/three-tang-poems.html
That was followed a few days later by a longer exploration of Chinese poetry:
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2007/11/shi-chinese-verse-with-lines-of-five-or.html
Here, a post on speaking Chinese:
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2009/07/good-to-eat.html
And a post on Chinese speaking:
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2008/09/this-is-america-speak-english-dammit.html
Any feedback on those early posts will be appreciated.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
It isn't.
Not a lot harder. Only a little harder.
Ivrit has the usual complement of letters and numbers that one would expect. There are probably one to two dozen other characters that really need to be learned in order to write. Plus cursive forms.
All in all, about fifty or sixty symbols.
In Chinese, there are 214 basic characters or building blocks. These are the characters that cannot be broken up into simpler characters.
All of them have meanings, by the way - they're not just sounds or scratches.
CHARACTER CONSTRUCTION
All characters consist of one or more building blocks (basics, also called radicals).
The simplest basics (the signifiers) are usually the ones by which you look a word up in the dictionary.
Dictionaries are arranged from simplest basic to most complex by stroke order and stroke count.
The stroke order starts at upper right, finishes at lower left, horizontals before verticals..... plus a few more minor rules that make sense once you start writing.
[That can be seen here: http://www.mdbg.net/chindict/chindict.php?page=radicals
A good example is this page: http://www.mdbg.net/chindict/chindict.php?cdqrad=9 which shows all the characters in that database for the ren radical (the 'basic' that means human: 人 or 亻) from simplest character (人) to most complex (儾 nàng: slow, dull; irresolute; 人 plus 22 strokes). Please go ahead and explore the Chinese-English Dictionary at your leisure: http://www.mdbg.net/chindict/chindict.php ]
There are about five hundred characters which can be analysed as pictures. These include the 214 basics. All other characters are combinations, with one element (the signifier) indicating the category of meaning (金 metalic, 木 wood, 艹 plant, 豸 beast, 言 speech, etc.) and the remaining part of the character almost always being a common phonetic element.
[For instance, all species of tree have the signifier tree (木) as part. The remainder of the character will usually be a phonetic element, yielding a combination that can be analysed as the tree with the name that sounds like the phonetic element.The metals, and many things made of metal, commonly have the eight-stroke character for gold (金), the paradigm of metals, as signifier, also with a phonetic element suggesting the pronunciation. Note that the character for gold (金) is a diagram of a mine, with a pulley at the top, an upper tunnel, and a lower tunnel, in which there may be found ingots or ores.]
PHONETIC ELEMENTS
Phonetic elements are usually a word in their own right. Some are simple constructions (in other words, the basics), others are more complex constructions of two or more characters (again, going back to the basic building blocks). Phonetic elements occur on the right-hand side, or on the bottom, of most combination characters.
There are approximately one hundred phonetics which occur so often that they become instantly recognizable. Another five hundred or so which are quite common, and about 1200 others (more or less) which are used because a homophonous phonetic was already utilized for another word constructed with the same signifier.
Some phonetic elements have been extremely stable over the past two-thousand years - what they sound like today as independent characters is reasonably close to how they sound in the various characters in which they are used phonetically, even if the pronunciations of modern Chinese are not the same as during Zhou and Han.
Others have deviated considerably. What may be pronounced as 'wo' independently can become 'wu', 'wa', 'go', or 'e'.
There are also phonetics which have pronunciations that seem to make no sense unless one figures out where everything went wrong. For instance, a character pronounced as 'yi' originally was borrowed as an abbreviation of a word pronounced 'dai', and subsequently that pronunciation was used phonetically for some characters just like the original pronunciation was used. Yi and dai are now both valid phonetic uses of that character, along with 'chi', 'de', and 'gung' - based on different borrowings and linguistic changes.
Fortunately, the really buggered-up phonetic elements are rare, and characters containing them infrequent.
SPEAKING, READING, WRITING
For most Chinese people, there is seldom an exact overlap between the spoken vocabulary and the written vocabulary.
One could be a fluent speaker with less than fluent literacy, or one might know what a character means without being able to pronounce it. Knowing what a word sounds like while being ignorant of the meaning is somewhat less common.
For almost all literate Chinese, there is a large number of characters that they know well, plus a large number of characters that they recognize when they see them but might not remember exactly how to write, as well as a number of characters of which they know only the sound or only the meaning.
Furthermore, there may be many characters which they have forgotten, or never even knew.
In some cases the meaning of a word can be deduced from the context.
Never-the-less, the dictionary is the constant companion of the reader, and rare is the literate person who has not destroyed at least one dictionary by years of use.
Not all words in the spoken language have a character assigned to them. There are slang terms, dialect words, and colloquialisms that have not entered the dictionary, as well as the usual curses and unprintabilities. In so far as they are written, the characters will be constructed along standard lines, or may simply be other characters borrowed for the purpose - context will may clear that the word is not used as it should be.
Many characters are almost never used in speech. This is because they have been replaced by other words in the last several centuries, or have only limited applicability (names for types of Zhou bronze vessels being a good example), or because they sound so much like other words in the modern pronounciation that they would be confusing. For instance, there are well over five dozen characters pronounced 'shi'. Even with different tones mistakes are possible.
There are some characters which represent concepts that in speech are given with two-syllable combinations - the single syllable character may still be used in writing, but its use in speech would not be understood.
NECESSARY VOCABULARY
To read the newspaper, about three thousand characters are sufficient. Almost all words are either single syllables written by one of these characters, or combination words using two or more.
To read technical literature, one might need an additional few hundred or so words, depending on the field.
For the poetry of the T'ang (唐) and Sung (宋) dynasty periods, about fifteen hundred more characters would be needed, because the language has changed a bit since then.
For the classics from the Zhou (周) and Han (漢) era, perhaps another thousand words in addition to the vocabulary necessary for the poems.
If one has mastered about four to five thousand characters, one should have little problems reading Chinese for enjoyment or scholarly purposes.
With a minimum of around a thousand, one can easily figure out menus, product and store names, street signs, and simple texts.
With less than five hundred characters, one is merely a pretentious white person capable of boring other white people with the mysterioso beauty and meaningfulness of it all - while irritating Chinese people nearly beyond measure.
Even with a reasonably full vocabulary (4 to 5 thousand characters) one will not be Chinese unless one started out that way - one will still be a foreigner looking through the window, albeit a completely literate one.
This is not bad at all, and often it is far better than being a Chinese person, as one gets full credit for the effort expended and the result achieved. Much more so than if you looked Asian.
Most of the characters you will ever need are used so often, and in so many ways, that it is not hard to remember them. You will see them so frequently that once you have learned what they mean and how they are pronounced that knowledge will become instinctive.
Many characters can be learned by their similarity to others within a meaning category - tree types, metals, etcetera.
Some characters are so simple, being no more than half a dozen strokes, that you cannot avoid learning them.
A concerted effort to memorize even as few as a score of characters a day would yield a vocabulary more than sufficient to read the newspaper within the year.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
APPENDIX
In November 2007 I wrote a post with transliterations and translations of three T'ang poems:
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2007/11/three-tang-poems.html
That was followed a few days later by a longer exploration of Chinese poetry:
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2007/11/shi-chinese-verse-with-lines-of-five-or.html
Here, a post on speaking Chinese:
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2009/07/good-to-eat.html
And a post on Chinese speaking:
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2008/09/this-is-america-speak-english-dammit.html
Any feedback on those early posts will be appreciated.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
AIPAC - A JEWISH HEADACHE
Today I am a man with kopfvetig. It's my own fault too.
Though I'll happily blame the Jews.
The headache is the result of yesterday's love-fest outside the hotel where AIPAC had its annual dog-and-pony show for the members. Which always brings out the worst in some people.
[Friend and co-conspirator Chaim ben David gives his impression of the event HERE.
Out-takes: psychopaths, Hassan Fouda and Marilyn Fouda, tantrums, poltroons, loonies, and Paul Larudee.]
PROTEST AND COUNTER-PROTEST
I got there at around 4:40 PM, well in advance of most members of the dark side, with six Israeli flags and two American flags. Said hi to several comrades-in-arms, passed out flags, took up position.
At this point, no headache yet.
Within half an hour, some of the usual misguided and remarkably ignorant intellectuals from Berkeley showed up to support the eradication of Israel.
Several of them are members of Jewish Voice for Peace or Women in Black - of whom most are sour Presbyterians, Methodists, or Jews of Convenience (Jewish when it is politically appropriate to be Jewish but not actually Jewish Jewish). We glared at each other from opposite sides of the street. Our happy band of pro-Israel activists clearly gave them indigestion.
Still no headache.
By six o'clock, most attendees of the AIPAC dinner had gone inside, and the sidewalk across the street was populated by several unruly juveniles of Arab and Hispanic background, middle aged white densities from Berkeley, Dick Becker and few others - occasionally chanting threats to ethnically cleanse Israel ("Palestine will be free from the river to the sea", "ba ruh, ba damn, nafdeek ya falesteen", etc.), or yelling unintelligible stuff.
On our side, several of the attendees on their way in thanked us for being there, some of the uniformed individuals winked at us or flashed victory signs.
No headache.
During the hour between six and seven PM, an immature person from the pro-Palestinian side started mumbling into his friend's megaphone, a few provocateurs tried to come over to steal flags or act threatening, some "observers" slipped on by unobtrusively after having ditched their anti-Israel signs, and a verbal altercation between unstable elements on both sides of the street at the intersection of Taylor and O'Farrell was providing much amusement.
The cops moved in several times to prevent the more offensive members of the pro-Palestinian side from inadvertently endangering themselves.
No headache at this point either.
WORDS OF COMFORT
Even the frequent confrontations on my corner with middle-aged Berkeley Jew-haters and other pro-Palestinians intent on incidental mayhem did not give me a head-ache. Rather, I felt a sense of exhilaration. Even encouraged a few of them to play in traffic.
Apparently I am an obnoxious sob ("thank you for your words of praise!"), a kike warmonger ("but, but, but, I haven't monged any war in soooooo long!") and a Jew-Nazi-Fascist ("you used it in a sentence, good, but can you spell it?").
In case you are wondering, I am also a Zio-imperialist, and I bomb children.
None of which causes headaches.
I still did not have the headache when I got home shortly after eight o'clock with some flowers for Savage Kitten.
Then I had a cup of coffee and a snack, prepared myself a nice tall glass of grapefruit juice with sparkling water, and sat down to watch a Japanese science-fiction movie.
Within twenty minutes the headache started.
So I had some more coffee, and then some more grapefruit juice.
TO SLEEP, PERCHANCE TO DREAM
I kept waking up in the middle of the night and having more grapefruit juice. Smoke a bit, finish the glass, return to bed.
Then I'd think about things for another hour, get up again and have some more grapefruit juice, repeat. I've had maybe five hours sleep.
I still have the headache today.
See, if I hadn't joined the pro-Israel demo outside the Hilton, I probably would've had a cocktail or two at a bar instead. No problem, no pain.
A bunch of Jews with Israeli and American flags is guaranteed to cause headaches.
Everyone knows that.
Though I'll happily blame the Jews.
The headache is the result of yesterday's love-fest outside the hotel where AIPAC had its annual dog-and-pony show for the members. Which always brings out the worst in some people.
[Friend and co-conspirator Chaim ben David gives his impression of the event HERE.
Out-takes: psychopaths, Hassan Fouda and Marilyn Fouda, tantrums, poltroons, loonies, and Paul Larudee.]
PROTEST AND COUNTER-PROTEST
I got there at around 4:40 PM, well in advance of most members of the dark side, with six Israeli flags and two American flags. Said hi to several comrades-in-arms, passed out flags, took up position.
At this point, no headache yet.
Within half an hour, some of the usual misguided and remarkably ignorant intellectuals from Berkeley showed up to support the eradication of Israel.
Several of them are members of Jewish Voice for Peace or Women in Black - of whom most are sour Presbyterians, Methodists, or Jews of Convenience (Jewish when it is politically appropriate to be Jewish but not actually Jewish Jewish). We glared at each other from opposite sides of the street. Our happy band of pro-Israel activists clearly gave them indigestion.
Still no headache.
By six o'clock, most attendees of the AIPAC dinner had gone inside, and the sidewalk across the street was populated by several unruly juveniles of Arab and Hispanic background, middle aged white densities from Berkeley, Dick Becker and few others - occasionally chanting threats to ethnically cleanse Israel ("Palestine will be free from the river to the sea", "ba ruh, ba damn, nafdeek ya falesteen", etc.), or yelling unintelligible stuff.
On our side, several of the attendees on their way in thanked us for being there, some of the uniformed individuals winked at us or flashed victory signs.
No headache.
During the hour between six and seven PM, an immature person from the pro-Palestinian side started mumbling into his friend's megaphone, a few provocateurs tried to come over to steal flags or act threatening, some "observers" slipped on by unobtrusively after having ditched their anti-Israel signs, and a verbal altercation between unstable elements on both sides of the street at the intersection of Taylor and O'Farrell was providing much amusement.
The cops moved in several times to prevent the more offensive members of the pro-Palestinian side from inadvertently endangering themselves.
No headache at this point either.
WORDS OF COMFORT
Even the frequent confrontations on my corner with middle-aged Berkeley Jew-haters and other pro-Palestinians intent on incidental mayhem did not give me a head-ache. Rather, I felt a sense of exhilaration. Even encouraged a few of them to play in traffic.
Apparently I am an obnoxious sob ("thank you for your words of praise!"), a kike warmonger ("but, but, but, I haven't monged any war in soooooo long!") and a Jew-Nazi-Fascist ("you used it in a sentence, good, but can you spell it?").
In case you are wondering, I am also a Zio-imperialist, and I bomb children.
None of which causes headaches.
I still did not have the headache when I got home shortly after eight o'clock with some flowers for Savage Kitten.
Then I had a cup of coffee and a snack, prepared myself a nice tall glass of grapefruit juice with sparkling water, and sat down to watch a Japanese science-fiction movie.
Within twenty minutes the headache started.
So I had some more coffee, and then some more grapefruit juice.
TO SLEEP, PERCHANCE TO DREAM
I kept waking up in the middle of the night and having more grapefruit juice. Smoke a bit, finish the glass, return to bed.
Then I'd think about things for another hour, get up again and have some more grapefruit juice, repeat. I've had maybe five hours sleep.
I still have the headache today.
See, if I hadn't joined the pro-Israel demo outside the Hilton, I probably would've had a cocktail or two at a bar instead. No problem, no pain.
A bunch of Jews with Israeli and American flags is guaranteed to cause headaches.
Everyone knows that.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
KATHERINE M. FUCHS HUMPS A CAMEL?
That, probably, is the best thing that's ever happened to her - if indeed she made a face-to-face connection. If. Only if.
Camels, so we have been informed by several gentlemen named Abdoul, are zesty sexual partners.
An acquaintance named Pierre grudgingly admitted that he discovered the same thing, before being told that the beast was there in case he needed to ride into town.
But what about Katherine M. Fuchs? Is she in any way good for the camel? It HAS to be mutually rewarding, with natural progressions and conclusions to the hump.
Explosively, is it good for the camel?
Alas, we shall never know.
Camels cannot speak.
At this point, you may well be asking yourself what on earth has come over me, and why am I speculating about the perverse and possibly vile sex-life of a person named Katherine M. Fuchs, about which I probably know nothing.
Simple.
I read about it on a blog.
http://deathbynoodles.blogspot.com/2009/12/caterpillar-and-motorola-stock-which.html
QUOTE: "Hi Katherine, if you're reading this, go hump a camel. People like you are the poisonous dregs in American society, and the sooner you die (or get arrested for treason) the better. "
[DEATH BY NOODLES: http://deathbynoodles.blogspot.com/ ]
In short, fellow San Franciscan Snooky Wong got an e-mail from the 'US Campaign to end the Occupation' (that being Ms. Fuchs and her cohorts) advising that all the Israel haters should buy stock in Motorola and Caterpillar so that they can vote against doing business with Israel at the next shareholders' meeting.
Ms. Fuchs advised to keep this plan secret for now, because she doesn't want Motorola or Caterpillar to stymie her effort at subterfuge.
QUOTE:
"Our purchasing of -- stock should be kept quite for now."
Unfortunately for Katherine M. Fuchs, the recipient of that e-mail was a bad, bad, BAD! little Chinese girl. Quite the wrong person to whom to send such an anti-Israel missive.
Naughty miss Wong promptly spilled the beans and concluded by advising Katherine M. Fuchs to "go hump a camel".
I am fairly certain that that is the MOST exciting thing anyone had ever suggested to Ms. Fuchs. If she has not done so yet, she should undoubtedly consider the proposition.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
PLEASE NOTE: The author of this blog is NOT an advocate of bestiality. Suggestions that Katherine M. Fuchs might actually be into that, or should even consider going that way, are meant surreally, and we do NOT want to know about the mechanics of camel-humping (that being the purview of several gentlemen named Abdoul and at least one Frenchman), nor do we wish to see any photos of the attempt.
Any and all suggestions that Katherine Fuchs is sexually active are purely speculative.
PLEASE ALSO NOTE: "Humping a Camel" may be a code phrase for smoking a cigarette (commonly done after congress). If so, we would advise normal people against it. Being, as our regular readers know, a pipesmoker.
Katherine M.Fuchs (National Organizer, US Campaign to End the Israeli Occupation) can take it either way.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
ADDENDUM: THE LETTER FROM KATHERINE M. FUCHS
Hello all, If you were at our annual Organizers' Conference last September, you already know that we're asking supporters of the Stop Caterkiller campaign to each purchase one share of Caterpillar stock before the end of the year. While it may seem odd for a group pushing for divestment to encourage purchasing Caterpillar stock, there is a method to our madness. The real point of shareholder divestment is to pressure the corporation to divest of it's activities in the area of concern. With this in mind, once you become a Caterpillar shareholder you can 1) vote in favor of our resolution at the shareholder meeting and 2) support our protest activities inside the meeting by either attending yourself or designating a proxy. The reason we would like more turnout from our supporters at the shareholder meeting is that this has been the area where we've had the most success garnering media attention. The annual shareholder meeting is Caterpillar's day in the media's sun and if we can turn the attention from Cat's finances to their activities in Israel/Palestine it is a win for our campaign. Three important things to keep in mind as you purchase stock and encourage friends to do the same:
Our purchasing of Cat stock should be kept quite for now. If Caterpillar learns of this strategy they may change the rules of the meeting to require more than one share for entry. Time is of the essence. The cut-off date for shareholders receiving invitations to the meeting is fast approaching; I believe that this cut-off date is the end of the calendar year, so act now! Let us know when you've confirmed your stock purchase so we can be in contact with you about shareholder meeting plans. You can email me at organizer[at]endtheoccupation[dot]org or call our office at 202-332-0994. Please use the following instructions to purchase your share of Caterpillar Corporation: You can purchase one share of Caterpillar stock for approximately $58.00. You can purchase one share of Motorola stock for approximately $9.00. 1. Go to www.zecco.com and sign up for a free membership. 2. After you complete all the information to set up your account, you will need to wait for an email that indicates that your account has been approved. 3. Follow the instructions included in the approval email to complete the account set up. 4. Once your account is set up, login to Zecco and then click on the "trading" tab. Please note that you will have a username and password for your Zecco account, as well as a trading key to access your trading account. 5. Once you’ve signed into the Trading Center, check the current asking price of the stock you wish to purchase using the Caterpillar symbol (CAT) and/or Motorola symbol (MOT). 6. Next you will need to set up a trading account, which is separate from the Zecco account. Click on "Funding and Transfers" on the left hand side of the page and then click on "Open an Account". Fill out all the required information and select the way in which you would like to fund your account. The easiest way is by electronic transfer link (ACH) from your bank account. 7. Once you have completed the application, you will receive an email to confirm that you application is being processed. The email will give you instructs to follow to complete the association between your bank account and your trading account. 8. When your account is approved, go back to the Trading Center and check the current asking price for the CAT and/or MOT stock. 9. Click on the "Funding and Transfers" tab in the Trading Center and then click on the "Deposit to Zecco Trading" tab. On this page you should see a drop down menu that shows your bank account. When you fill out the amount field to transfer money from your bank account to your Zecco account, you will need to add a few extra dollars to ensure that you have enough buying power to purchase the stock. Please note that there is a $4.50 transaction fee to process the transaction. If you do not transfer enough the first time, you will need to deposit additional funds. Each time you transfer money to Zecco there is a waiting period of a few days to complete the transaction. For example, if the cost of the stock is $9.00, you may wish to deposit $15.00 to be safe. 10. When the money has been successfully transferred to your Zecco account, go into the Trading Center and fill out the information to purchase the stock. Once you have completed this information and send the order, the transaction should be complete within a few hours. 11. You should receive confirmation of your transaction by mail within about a week of your purchase. Thank you so much for supporting this project! Even if you can't attend the shareholder meeting in Chicago next June your ownership of Cat stock will enable you to designate a proxy (we will put you in touch with a Stop Caterkiller activist in the Chicago area if you request) to participate in our "inside strategy" at the shareholder meeting.
Peace & Power, Katherine M. Fuchs
National Organizer US Campaign to End the Israeli Occupation
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Camels, so we have been informed by several gentlemen named Abdoul, are zesty sexual partners.
An acquaintance named Pierre grudgingly admitted that he discovered the same thing, before being told that the beast was there in case he needed to ride into town.
But what about Katherine M. Fuchs? Is she in any way good for the camel? It HAS to be mutually rewarding, with natural progressions and conclusions to the hump.
Explosively, is it good for the camel?
Alas, we shall never know.
Camels cannot speak.
At this point, you may well be asking yourself what on earth has come over me, and why am I speculating about the perverse and possibly vile sex-life of a person named Katherine M. Fuchs, about which I probably know nothing.
Simple.
I read about it on a blog.
http://deathbynoodles.blogspot.com/2009/12/caterpillar-and-motorola-stock-which.html
QUOTE: "Hi Katherine, if you're reading this, go hump a camel. People like you are the poisonous dregs in American society, and the sooner you die (or get arrested for treason) the better. "
[DEATH BY NOODLES: http://deathbynoodles.blogspot.com/ ]
In short, fellow San Franciscan Snooky Wong got an e-mail from the 'US Campaign to end the Occupation' (that being Ms. Fuchs and her cohorts) advising that all the Israel haters should buy stock in Motorola and Caterpillar so that they can vote against doing business with Israel at the next shareholders' meeting.
Ms. Fuchs advised to keep this plan secret for now, because she doesn't want Motorola or Caterpillar to stymie her effort at subterfuge.
QUOTE:
"Our purchasing of -- stock should be kept quite for now."
Unfortunately for Katherine M. Fuchs, the recipient of that e-mail was a bad, bad, BAD! little Chinese girl. Quite the wrong person to whom to send such an anti-Israel missive.
Naughty miss Wong promptly spilled the beans and concluded by advising Katherine M. Fuchs to "go hump a camel".
I am fairly certain that that is the MOST exciting thing anyone had ever suggested to Ms. Fuchs. If she has not done so yet, she should undoubtedly consider the proposition.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
PLEASE NOTE: The author of this blog is NOT an advocate of bestiality. Suggestions that Katherine M. Fuchs might actually be into that, or should even consider going that way, are meant surreally, and we do NOT want to know about the mechanics of camel-humping (that being the purview of several gentlemen named Abdoul and at least one Frenchman), nor do we wish to see any photos of the attempt.
Any and all suggestions that Katherine Fuchs is sexually active are purely speculative.
PLEASE ALSO NOTE: "Humping a Camel" may be a code phrase for smoking a cigarette (commonly done after congress). If so, we would advise normal people against it. Being, as our regular readers know, a pipesmoker.
Katherine M.Fuchs (National Organizer, US Campaign to End the Israeli Occupation) can take it either way.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
ADDENDUM: THE LETTER FROM KATHERINE M. FUCHS
Hello all, If you were at our annual Organizers' Conference last September, you already know that we're asking supporters of the Stop Caterkiller campaign to each purchase one share of Caterpillar stock before the end of the year. While it may seem odd for a group pushing for divestment to encourage purchasing Caterpillar stock, there is a method to our madness. The real point of shareholder divestment is to pressure the corporation to divest of it's activities in the area of concern. With this in mind, once you become a Caterpillar shareholder you can 1) vote in favor of our resolution at the shareholder meeting and 2) support our protest activities inside the meeting by either attending yourself or designating a proxy. The reason we would like more turnout from our supporters at the shareholder meeting is that this has been the area where we've had the most success garnering media attention. The annual shareholder meeting is Caterpillar's day in the media's sun and if we can turn the attention from Cat's finances to their activities in Israel/Palestine it is a win for our campaign. Three important things to keep in mind as you purchase stock and encourage friends to do the same:
Our purchasing of Cat stock should be kept quite for now. If Caterpillar learns of this strategy they may change the rules of the meeting to require more than one share for entry. Time is of the essence. The cut-off date for shareholders receiving invitations to the meeting is fast approaching; I believe that this cut-off date is the end of the calendar year, so act now! Let us know when you've confirmed your stock purchase so we can be in contact with you about shareholder meeting plans. You can email me at organizer[at]endtheoccupation[dot]org or call our office at 202-332-0994. Please use the following instructions to purchase your share of Caterpillar Corporation: You can purchase one share of Caterpillar stock for approximately $58.00. You can purchase one share of Motorola stock for approximately $9.00. 1. Go to www.zecco.com and sign up for a free membership. 2. After you complete all the information to set up your account, you will need to wait for an email that indicates that your account has been approved. 3. Follow the instructions included in the approval email to complete the account set up. 4. Once your account is set up, login to Zecco and then click on the "trading" tab. Please note that you will have a username and password for your Zecco account, as well as a trading key to access your trading account. 5. Once you’ve signed into the Trading Center, check the current asking price of the stock you wish to purchase using the Caterpillar symbol (CAT) and/or Motorola symbol (MOT). 6. Next you will need to set up a trading account, which is separate from the Zecco account. Click on "Funding and Transfers" on the left hand side of the page and then click on "Open an Account". Fill out all the required information and select the way in which you would like to fund your account. The easiest way is by electronic transfer link (ACH) from your bank account. 7. Once you have completed the application, you will receive an email to confirm that you application is being processed. The email will give you instructs to follow to complete the association between your bank account and your trading account. 8. When your account is approved, go back to the Trading Center and check the current asking price for the CAT and/or MOT stock. 9. Click on the "Funding and Transfers" tab in the Trading Center and then click on the "Deposit to Zecco Trading" tab. On this page you should see a drop down menu that shows your bank account. When you fill out the amount field to transfer money from your bank account to your Zecco account, you will need to add a few extra dollars to ensure that you have enough buying power to purchase the stock. Please note that there is a $4.50 transaction fee to process the transaction. If you do not transfer enough the first time, you will need to deposit additional funds. Each time you transfer money to Zecco there is a waiting period of a few days to complete the transaction. For example, if the cost of the stock is $9.00, you may wish to deposit $15.00 to be safe. 10. When the money has been successfully transferred to your Zecco account, go into the Trading Center and fill out the information to purchase the stock. Once you have completed this information and send the order, the transaction should be complete within a few hours. 11. You should receive confirmation of your transaction by mail within about a week of your purchase. Thank you so much for supporting this project! Even if you can't attend the shareholder meeting in Chicago next June your ownership of Cat stock will enable you to designate a proxy (we will put you in touch with a Stop Caterkiller activist in the Chicago area if you request) to participate in our "inside strategy" at the shareholder meeting.
Peace & Power, Katherine M. Fuchs
National Organizer US Campaign to End the Israeli Occupation
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Monday, December 14, 2009
BHANGRA MONDAY!
An antidote to the sickening Christmas crap music to which you have been forced to listen these past few weeks. This will blow that saccharine slop-ear right out of the water.
THE SAFRI BOYS
A song for exiles - Pardesi hona:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R_ZC4SPaYd4&feature=related
The sacrifice - Ankhan Valeh 1984
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iKLkZsjhHS4
Something really lively - Rahe rahe jaan valiye
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GAHTSHBJuFg&feature=related
Quiet, contemplative.... well, sort of. Pao Bhangra
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rso2ol0MxnQ&feature=related
And finishing on a madcap note, Chan Mere Makna
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JxM0pivWKPU&feature=related
Raj kare ga Khalsa.
THE SAFRI BOYS
A song for exiles - Pardesi hona:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R_ZC4SPaYd4&feature=related
The sacrifice - Ankhan Valeh 1984
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iKLkZsjhHS4
Something really lively - Rahe rahe jaan valiye
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GAHTSHBJuFg&feature=related
Quiet, contemplative.... well, sort of. Pao Bhangra
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rso2ol0MxnQ&feature=related
And finishing on a madcap note, Chan Mere Makna
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JxM0pivWKPU&feature=related
Raj kare ga Khalsa.
Friday, December 11, 2009
FOX WAR ON CHRISTMAS!
Courtesy of an anonymous commenter on Dovbear's blog, we now know that FOX Broadcasting are a bunch of atheist, liberal, G-d-h-ting, Marxist, secular humanists.
Bill O'Reilly (the pope of FOX) insists that ONLY enemies of Christmas will wish people happy holidays and refer to the season as 'holiday' or 'the holidays' instead of calling a spade a spade.
In O'Reilly's world, bugger everyone who has different traditions, it's Christmas, guddammit.
What the anonymous commenter brought to light was this:
"HOLIDAY MUST HAVES FROM THE FOX SHOP!"http://shop.ecompanystore.com/foxnews/FOX_shop.asp
What?
The pope of FOX (Bill O'Reilly) is either a hypocrite or a dunce - his own church (pardon, "employer") has joined the WAR ON CHRISTMAS!
Fie! Fie! Fie!
[From WIKIPEDIA: "...the concept of a modern-day "War on Christmas" only became widely discussed in the United States and Canada during the first few years of the 2000s decade, often credited particularly to an exposure of the issue by American commentator Bill O'Reilly.
The claim among Brimelow, O'Reilly, and later a variety of prominent media figures and others was that any specific mention of the term "Christmas" or its religious aspects was being increasingly censored, avoided, or discouraged by a number of advertisers, retailers, government (prominently schools), and other public and secular organizations."
SOURCE: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/War_on_Christmas]
Given that Bill O'Reilly is certainly NO poster boy for Christian values, being a narrow-minded hateful right-wing s.o.b. with a foul temper (oh wait, never mind......... ).......... !
Strike that. Different tack.
Look, Bill, I accept that you and your evil masters at FOX are spineless and ethically deprived. Really. We treasure you people for being folks we can comfortably feel much better than.
That counts for very much, and we're grateful.
BUT COULD YOU AT LEAST TRY TO BE CONSISTENT??!!??
For instance, if one week you're gonna advocate that all not-quite-humans be encouraged to have abortions, and the next week you praise anti-abortionists, you can't blame us if we don't quite understand what you're thinking.
As another less than hypothetical example, if one of you avers that the poor are getting rich by screwing the system, and another one of you follows that by screaming that the system is gonna impoverish us all it's the apocalypse run fer the hills maw, shouldn't we be a little confused?
What do you really mean?
So also with the War on Christmas.
Or the War on the War on Christmas.
Or even the War against the War on the War on Christmas.
If, because of greed and an understandable desire to join in the bleeding of suckers which is traditional around this time of year, you join in on the War on Christmas, and call it the 'holiday', or 'holidays', surely you are sending mixed messages?
You can't have it both ways. Either you are outraged, furiously outraged(!) at the mercantile exploitation of sweet little baby Jesus' very own special magic joy-joy time, OR you are guilty of buying into the whole midwinter Germano-Celtic pine tree and fatman feast, trying to squeeze every last drop of lucre out of all the non-sectarians who aren't going to church on Christmas Eve because they need to hide expensive stuff under a decorated fire hazard in their living room.
It's one or the other.
Show some backbone, Billy. Some gumption. Go down there Billy and burn the gift shop down! Damn them for speaking of "Holiday Must Haves", damn them all. Curse them and their children and their children's children, and cast them out into the cold. Pitchforks and torches, pitchforks and torches - it's a matter of principle! Expunge them, Billy, show them what real Christians think of their vile opportunism. Be foul tempered. Possibly violent.
We know you can do it.
They're besmirching the holy name of FOX and innocent wee floofy Jesus and all that is good.
Money changers in the temple, Billy. Money changers in the temple.
Bill O'Reilly (the pope of FOX) insists that ONLY enemies of Christmas will wish people happy holidays and refer to the season as 'holiday' or 'the holidays' instead of calling a spade a spade.
In O'Reilly's world, bugger everyone who has different traditions, it's Christmas, guddammit.
What the anonymous commenter brought to light was this:
"HOLIDAY MUST HAVES FROM THE FOX SHOP!"http://shop.ecompanystore.com/foxnews/FOX_shop.asp
What?
The pope of FOX (Bill O'Reilly) is either a hypocrite or a dunce - his own church (pardon, "employer") has joined the WAR ON CHRISTMAS!
Fie! Fie! Fie!
[From WIKIPEDIA: "...the concept of a modern-day "War on Christmas" only became widely discussed in the United States and Canada during the first few years of the 2000s decade, often credited particularly to an exposure of the issue by American commentator Bill O'Reilly.
The claim among Brimelow, O'Reilly, and later a variety of prominent media figures and others was that any specific mention of the term "Christmas" or its religious aspects was being increasingly censored, avoided, or discouraged by a number of advertisers, retailers, government (prominently schools), and other public and secular organizations."
SOURCE: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/War_on_Christmas]
Given that Bill O'Reilly is certainly NO poster boy for Christian values, being a narrow-minded hateful right-wing s.o.b. with a foul temper (oh wait, never mind......... ).......... !
Strike that. Different tack.
Look, Bill, I accept that you and your evil masters at FOX are spineless and ethically deprived. Really. We treasure you people for being folks we can comfortably feel much better than.
That counts for very much, and we're grateful.
BUT COULD YOU AT LEAST TRY TO BE CONSISTENT??!!??
For instance, if one week you're gonna advocate that all not-quite-humans be encouraged to have abortions, and the next week you praise anti-abortionists, you can't blame us if we don't quite understand what you're thinking.
As another less than hypothetical example, if one of you avers that the poor are getting rich by screwing the system, and another one of you follows that by screaming that the system is gonna impoverish us all it's the apocalypse run fer the hills maw, shouldn't we be a little confused?
What do you really mean?
So also with the War on Christmas.
Or the War on the War on Christmas.
Or even the War against the War on the War on Christmas.
If, because of greed and an understandable desire to join in the bleeding of suckers which is traditional around this time of year, you join in on the War on Christmas, and call it the 'holiday', or 'holidays', surely you are sending mixed messages?
You can't have it both ways. Either you are outraged, furiously outraged(!) at the mercantile exploitation of sweet little baby Jesus' very own special magic joy-joy time, OR you are guilty of buying into the whole midwinter Germano-Celtic pine tree and fatman feast, trying to squeeze every last drop of lucre out of all the non-sectarians who aren't going to church on Christmas Eve because they need to hide expensive stuff under a decorated fire hazard in their living room.
It's one or the other.
Show some backbone, Billy. Some gumption. Go down there Billy and burn the gift shop down! Damn them for speaking of "Holiday Must Haves", damn them all. Curse them and their children and their children's children, and cast them out into the cold. Pitchforks and torches, pitchforks and torches - it's a matter of principle! Expunge them, Billy, show them what real Christians think of their vile opportunism. Be foul tempered. Possibly violent.
We know you can do it.
They're besmirching the holy name of FOX and innocent wee floofy Jesus and all that is good.
Money changers in the temple, Billy. Money changers in the temple.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
SPOON TOOKUS
It is cold, so cold..... The chill brings out strange behaviour in people. Not me, of course, as I am refreshingly normal.
It brings out strange behaviour in my significant other, Savage Kitten. Maybe because she is Cantonese-American.
We Dutch-Americans have NO screws loose, but Chinese-Americans..........
Due to the economy, she is no longer working full-time. And in consequence can stay in bed on a day like today. When I disappeared into the bathroom this morning, she had grabbed all the bedclothes and wrapped them tightly around herself. Even her nose was covered, just her eyes were visible. She held on to the one-legged monkey and the sock-sheep for comfort. So cold! So cold!
One thing I've noticed is that she feels the cold more acutely than I do. If she needs five blankets and a down comforter, I am perfectly happy with just one layer of sheeting and my feet exposed to the elements. She'll huddle up close to me, to soak up warmth, front to back..... then sneakily press her icy hands upon my glutei maximi.
At which point I may yelp.
Are other Cantonese-American girls like that?
I need to find out.
Anyhow. When I returned from my shower, she had just one word:
FUZZY!
Her eyes followed me around the room as I put on my clothes and prepared for work. There seemed a hunger in her glance, a deep yearning. On my way out, I found out what it was. Warm body! I represent something to suck heat out of.
SPOON TOOKUS!
That was what she yelled as I turned to leave. Spoon tookus! When I asked what she meant, she said that the words sounded appetizing. Comforting even, and so very very very wholesome.
Spoon tookus.
That, plus 'fuzzy', paints a picture ........ which we need not describe.
I am certain that she will spend most of the day curled up in bed with the small furry creatures. When I get home she will put aside the trashy book about the royal family, and reach for spoon tookus. Nice, warm, fuzzy spoon tookus. Because of the cold. Everyone needs such a thing, when it is chilly outside. Only then.
I feel SO objectified! Sniff!
Actually, I'm pretty darn comfortable with the idea. No problem at all.
I am the possessor of the spoon tookus. Which is good. Spoon tookus appeals to at least one charming Cantonese-American damsel, and maybe more. That is potent juju.
Spoon tookus. Spoon tookus. Spoon tookus.
Spoon tookus!
It brings out strange behaviour in my significant other, Savage Kitten. Maybe because she is Cantonese-American.
We Dutch-Americans have NO screws loose, but Chinese-Americans..........
Due to the economy, she is no longer working full-time. And in consequence can stay in bed on a day like today. When I disappeared into the bathroom this morning, she had grabbed all the bedclothes and wrapped them tightly around herself. Even her nose was covered, just her eyes were visible. She held on to the one-legged monkey and the sock-sheep for comfort. So cold! So cold!
One thing I've noticed is that she feels the cold more acutely than I do. If she needs five blankets and a down comforter, I am perfectly happy with just one layer of sheeting and my feet exposed to the elements. She'll huddle up close to me, to soak up warmth, front to back..... then sneakily press her icy hands upon my glutei maximi.
At which point I may yelp.
Are other Cantonese-American girls like that?
I need to find out.
Anyhow. When I returned from my shower, she had just one word:
FUZZY!
Her eyes followed me around the room as I put on my clothes and prepared for work. There seemed a hunger in her glance, a deep yearning. On my way out, I found out what it was. Warm body! I represent something to suck heat out of.
SPOON TOOKUS!
That was what she yelled as I turned to leave. Spoon tookus! When I asked what she meant, she said that the words sounded appetizing. Comforting even, and so very very very wholesome.
Spoon tookus.
That, plus 'fuzzy', paints a picture ........ which we need not describe.
I am certain that she will spend most of the day curled up in bed with the small furry creatures. When I get home she will put aside the trashy book about the royal family, and reach for spoon tookus. Nice, warm, fuzzy spoon tookus. Because of the cold. Everyone needs such a thing, when it is chilly outside. Only then.
I feel SO objectified! Sniff!
Actually, I'm pretty darn comfortable with the idea. No problem at all.
I am the possessor of the spoon tookus. Which is good. Spoon tookus appeals to at least one charming Cantonese-American damsel, and maybe more. That is potent juju.
Spoon tookus. Spoon tookus. Spoon tookus.
Spoon tookus!
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
TALKING ABOUT SEX WITH TEENAGERS
Over cocktails, a friend mentioned that he has to give his children 'the talk'. You know, 'that one'...., the one about the birds and the bees. He is NOT looking forward to it.
I can sympathize with his trepidation.
I remember my father's version of 'the talk'. It was shortened considerably by the fact that both of us boys in theory already knew all about human reproduction by the time we were nine years old (it was the practical aspects with which we had no experience).
My father's version of the talk was, accordingly, simple.
"Always keep yourself clean, especially your privates - some nice young thing might stick her tongue down there."
At this point, my brother turned green and ran from the room making retching sounds.
When he returned, the talk resumed:
"When you masturbate, hair grows on the palms of your hands."
This second datum, delivered with a straight face, had the desired effect.
Again my brother left the room.
That was it. Simple.
[You could expand it by adding in the advice he gave me when my pipe-smoking had been discovered: "Stay away from the perfumed crap; good tobacco shouldn't smell like a Turkish cat house".]
GIRLS!
My friend, on the other hand, is dealing with a darker and more complex world. He has daughters.
And there is no guarantee that their school has touched upon human reproduction.
I doubt that I am the best person to ask for advice. Never the less.
THE TALK
Girls, you aren't supposed to have sex. Yet you are reaching the age when you may think about it.
There are five rules that all boil down to 'safe sex'.
Avoid getting pregnant, avoid getting infected, avoid getting abused, avoid getting talked about, avoid getting found out.
The best method for achieving all of these aims is abstinence, but let's be realistic.
PREGNANCY
Know about your body and about basic biology - pregnancy is most likely to ensue during your fertile period, which starts more or less nine or ten days after the beginning of the menses, and continues till retirement age, errrrm, I mean until a few days before the next period. Fercrapessakes, read up on it!
Condoms are the best method of avoiding the transfer of sperm other than abstinence, the pill goes a long way towards preventing fertilization, but has side effects, and is contra-indicated in many cases.
INFECTION
Condoms help prevent infections, but are NOT guaranteed. Consequently you must be extremely careful in your choice of partners. Not all diseases are curable, many have long incubation periods. Sexually Transmitted Diseases are a fascinating subject, please read all about it.
A clean, intelligent, kind, and well-behaved person (good manners, morals, and ethics) is probably far less likely to be the Typhoid Mary of the clap than the captain of the football team or the class delinquent. Evenso, assume that most teenage boys are carriers of something vile, and you probably won't be far wrong.
AIDS is incurable.
ABUSE
Sports jocks are oafs. You should not associate with boys who are selfish or domineering.
If a boy with whom you are in a relationship hits you or verbally abuses you, cripple the bastard. Preferably before things have gone any further than holding hands.
Your mom and dad are here to bail you out if you get arrested.
REPUTATION
Boys only want one thing. Whether or not they get it, they will talk about it. Some of them will talk trash and name names when they haven't even gotten within a mile of it. On the other hand, some boys go nuts if they don't or no longer get it. At which point the entire school will know about it. Consequently there are many boys whom you must avoid.
Girls also talk trash, and some will gladly make another girl out for slut.
Choose whom you associate with carefully.
Sex is like net ninety terms; once it has been put on the table by the morons in the sales department, it just will not go away.
If anybody ever calls you a slut, break their jaw.
CAUTION
If you have a relationship, no one needs to hear about it. Not your classmates, not the neighbors, not your relatives. If you cannot guarantee complete discretion and silence (in other words, don't get pregnant, don't get infected, don't get abused, don't get talked about, don't get found out), don't even take the risk. Ninety percent of the foregoing about personal association and common sense choices applies here as well.
Avoid football players, bullies, delinquents, or trash talkers. Clowns too.
BUT BEYOND THAT...
The safest partner is someone who knows exactly what is at stake and what both of you have to loose. This means an intelligent, well-mannered, insightful, and considerate person. Someone who is likely to keep confidences and secrets, and will not embarrass you, or weasel-out on you.
Which, almost by definition, is someone beyond their teenage years who is not into sports. A mature individual, like an engineer or an accountant, heaven forbid!
There are risks.
So you should probably wait until you're eighteen before you jump into the sack with anyone. Better yet, wait until you've graduated college.
A doctorate. At least a Masters Degree.
-----------------------------------------------------
AFTERWORD
One might get the impression from the foregoing that sex should be avoided, being more trouble than it's worth. That is by no means correct.
I'm sure my readers realize that sex is as good as food. But it should NOT be shared with the world. Whether you like tight frilly panties (still occupied, OR nicely laundered), constricting naughty garments, or even unguents, heating lotions, and a black tarpaulin, go ahead and do your thing.
Just don't be messy about it, get to know the person first, and for heavens sakes keep it private.
If you live at home, don't forget to wash your sheets.
Oh and by the way - smoking is bad. Stay away from tobacco.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
I can sympathize with his trepidation.
I remember my father's version of 'the talk'. It was shortened considerably by the fact that both of us boys in theory already knew all about human reproduction by the time we were nine years old (it was the practical aspects with which we had no experience).
My father's version of the talk was, accordingly, simple.
"Always keep yourself clean, especially your privates - some nice young thing might stick her tongue down there."
At this point, my brother turned green and ran from the room making retching sounds.
When he returned, the talk resumed:
"When you masturbate, hair grows on the palms of your hands."
This second datum, delivered with a straight face, had the desired effect.
Again my brother left the room.
That was it. Simple.
[You could expand it by adding in the advice he gave me when my pipe-smoking had been discovered: "Stay away from the perfumed crap; good tobacco shouldn't smell like a Turkish cat house".]
GIRLS!
My friend, on the other hand, is dealing with a darker and more complex world. He has daughters.
And there is no guarantee that their school has touched upon human reproduction.
I doubt that I am the best person to ask for advice. Never the less.
THE TALK
Girls, you aren't supposed to have sex. Yet you are reaching the age when you may think about it.
There are five rules that all boil down to 'safe sex'.
Avoid getting pregnant, avoid getting infected, avoid getting abused, avoid getting talked about, avoid getting found out.
The best method for achieving all of these aims is abstinence, but let's be realistic.
PREGNANCY
Know about your body and about basic biology - pregnancy is most likely to ensue during your fertile period, which starts more or less nine or ten days after the beginning of the menses, and continues till retirement age, errrrm, I mean until a few days before the next period. Fercrapessakes, read up on it!
Condoms are the best method of avoiding the transfer of sperm other than abstinence, the pill goes a long way towards preventing fertilization, but has side effects, and is contra-indicated in many cases.
INFECTION
Condoms help prevent infections, but are NOT guaranteed. Consequently you must be extremely careful in your choice of partners. Not all diseases are curable, many have long incubation periods. Sexually Transmitted Diseases are a fascinating subject, please read all about it.
A clean, intelligent, kind, and well-behaved person (good manners, morals, and ethics) is probably far less likely to be the Typhoid Mary of the clap than the captain of the football team or the class delinquent. Evenso, assume that most teenage boys are carriers of something vile, and you probably won't be far wrong.
AIDS is incurable.
ABUSE
Sports jocks are oafs. You should not associate with boys who are selfish or domineering.
If a boy with whom you are in a relationship hits you or verbally abuses you, cripple the bastard. Preferably before things have gone any further than holding hands.
Your mom and dad are here to bail you out if you get arrested.
REPUTATION
Boys only want one thing. Whether or not they get it, they will talk about it. Some of them will talk trash and name names when they haven't even gotten within a mile of it. On the other hand, some boys go nuts if they don't or no longer get it. At which point the entire school will know about it. Consequently there are many boys whom you must avoid.
Girls also talk trash, and some will gladly make another girl out for slut.
Choose whom you associate with carefully.
Sex is like net ninety terms; once it has been put on the table by the morons in the sales department, it just will not go away.
If anybody ever calls you a slut, break their jaw.
CAUTION
If you have a relationship, no one needs to hear about it. Not your classmates, not the neighbors, not your relatives. If you cannot guarantee complete discretion and silence (in other words, don't get pregnant, don't get infected, don't get abused, don't get talked about, don't get found out), don't even take the risk. Ninety percent of the foregoing about personal association and common sense choices applies here as well.
Avoid football players, bullies, delinquents, or trash talkers. Clowns too.
BUT BEYOND THAT...
The safest partner is someone who knows exactly what is at stake and what both of you have to loose. This means an intelligent, well-mannered, insightful, and considerate person. Someone who is likely to keep confidences and secrets, and will not embarrass you, or weasel-out on you.
Which, almost by definition, is someone beyond their teenage years who is not into sports. A mature individual, like an engineer or an accountant, heaven forbid!
There are risks.
So you should probably wait until you're eighteen before you jump into the sack with anyone. Better yet, wait until you've graduated college.
A doctorate. At least a Masters Degree.
-----------------------------------------------------
AFTERWORD
One might get the impression from the foregoing that sex should be avoided, being more trouble than it's worth. That is by no means correct.
I'm sure my readers realize that sex is as good as food. But it should NOT be shared with the world. Whether you like tight frilly panties (still occupied, OR nicely laundered), constricting naughty garments, or even unguents, heating lotions, and a black tarpaulin, go ahead and do your thing.
Just don't be messy about it, get to know the person first, and for heavens sakes keep it private.
If you live at home, don't forget to wash your sheets.
Oh and by the way - smoking is bad. Stay away from tobacco.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
PLAYING WITH YOUR FOOD - THE FRIKADEL
One of the Dutch comestibles I miss is the frikadel. No, this is NOT what the Scandinavians, Belgians, or Indonesians would think of - instead, it is sausage composed of finely ground meat with spices (primarily nutmeg, paprika, coriander, herbs, salt, and pepper) and binders, dipped in eggwhite and rolled in fine breadcrumbs, then deep fried. The high temperature seals it, and the result is sheer heaven with chopped onions and sauces. The perfect cold-weather fast food.
Mmmmmmm!
It was invented in North Brabant, like so many good (fried) things in the Netherlands.
There is little reason to go anywhere else in the country, most of the decent restaurants are in the Meiery of 's-Hertogenbosch; culinarily, North Brabant knocks the socks off the other eleven provinces.
FROZEN TREAT!
Per today's Telegraaf, a court in Leeuwarden has found three teenagers not guilty of raping a fourteen year old companion with a frikadel. It is not clear whether the victim was a boy or a girl.
According to the court, "forcible penetration with a food-item can not necessarily be seen as sexual". Not in this case.
http://www.telegraaf.nl/binnenland/5525088/__Vrijspraak_voor_frikadellenverkrachting__.html?p=18,1
QUOTE: "Hoewel volgens de raadsheren in het algemeen het anaal inbrengen van een bevroren frikadel een seksuele lading heeft, ontbreekt die strekking in dit geval."
Translation: Even though, according to the members of the court, anally inserting a frozen frikadel commonly has a sexual import, in this case that connotation is lacking.
It should be clarified that the incident happened, more or less, with the co-operation of the penetratee.
QUOTE: "Het anaal inbrengen van de snack maakte -- deel uit van een weddenschap."
Translation: The anal insertion of the snack was part of a bet.
Please note: I have in the past suggested that there is a streak of insanity among the Dutch.
I wish to emphasize that I am still convinced of that, and in no way intend to argue otherwise. Ever.
No indeed.
NON-SEXUAL FRIKADEL
When I said that I miss the frikadel, I meant it gustatorily.
What Frisians do with food is not my business, nor anything I have ever experienced.
Thank heavens.
Many Frisians, as is well known, are barking mad, and their teenagers have 'issues'.
It must be all that inbreeding.
Raar volkje, die Friezen.
Keyneynahora.
It may be a while ere I eat another frikadel.
Mmmmmmm!
It was invented in North Brabant, like so many good (fried) things in the Netherlands.
There is little reason to go anywhere else in the country, most of the decent restaurants are in the Meiery of 's-Hertogenbosch; culinarily, North Brabant knocks the socks off the other eleven provinces.
FROZEN TREAT!
Per today's Telegraaf, a court in Leeuwarden has found three teenagers not guilty of raping a fourteen year old companion with a frikadel. It is not clear whether the victim was a boy or a girl.
According to the court, "forcible penetration with a food-item can not necessarily be seen as sexual". Not in this case.
http://www.telegraaf.nl/binnenland/5525088/__Vrijspraak_voor_frikadellenverkrachting__.html?p=18,1
QUOTE: "Hoewel volgens de raadsheren in het algemeen het anaal inbrengen van een bevroren frikadel een seksuele lading heeft, ontbreekt die strekking in dit geval."
Translation: Even though, according to the members of the court, anally inserting a frozen frikadel commonly has a sexual import, in this case that connotation is lacking.
It should be clarified that the incident happened, more or less, with the co-operation of the penetratee.
QUOTE: "Het anaal inbrengen van de snack maakte -- deel uit van een weddenschap."
Translation: The anal insertion of the snack was part of a bet.
Please note: I have in the past suggested that there is a streak of insanity among the Dutch.
I wish to emphasize that I am still convinced of that, and in no way intend to argue otherwise. Ever.
No indeed.
NON-SEXUAL FRIKADEL
When I said that I miss the frikadel, I meant it gustatorily.
What Frisians do with food is not my business, nor anything I have ever experienced.
Thank heavens.
Many Frisians, as is well known, are barking mad, and their teenagers have 'issues'.
It must be all that inbreeding.
Raar volkje, die Friezen.
Keyneynahora.
It may be a while ere I eat another frikadel.
Monday, December 07, 2009
FUR COATS ON NOB HILL
There are lovely houses on Jackson Street between Hyde and Larkin.
I noticed this again late one night as I was heading home. Old-style, modest apartment buildings - two or three floors, two apartments to the floor. One imagines spacious for a couple, or a little tight for a young family. That block is not as populated as nearby streets, given both the buildings, and a school located in the middle.
The intersection of Hyde and Jackson looks charming in the middle of the night. I had almost forgotten that.
Several months ago the bookseller and I were crossing the hill when ahead of us we noticed two huge furry raccoons at the intersection of Pacific and Hyde. They crossed with the green light, and we could see them very calmly and methodically checking each doorway all the way up Hyde Street, alternating hopscotch-like from house to house. The pair had a system, and were in no hurry. I think they paused for the light at Hyde and Jackson, but I'm not entirely sure.
They acted just like an old couple at peace in each other's company.
It would have been cute if they had been smaller. At their size, they owned the street.
The neighborhood is bounded on the west by Van Ness Avenue, on the south by the demilitarized zone (the five block wide stretch between California and Geary Streets), on the north by Vallejo, and on the east by Chinatown. Some parts are heavily Chinese - especially "le Rue de Toishan" (Pacific Avenue) and Hyde and Larkin Streets - whereas the top of Nob Hill is mostly wasp.
Downslope areas are more ethnically diverse - Chinese-Americans, white immigrants from the palest Midwest, Mexicans, Middle-Easterners, a few subcontinentals ...........
And raccoons.
It used to be more whitey-white, as attested by the six or seven churches within a few blocks of my apartment. Three of them are now Chinese, one of the others is abandoned, the remaining two have congregations from outside the area (or their members are too darn lazy to walk a few blocks). In the past, such a wealth of churches attracted 'white' families - a good solid neighborhood in which to raise children.
Now, I suspect, precisely that attracts the raccoons. It's still a good solid neighborhood in which to raise children.
Furry children.
Nob Hill, from Stockton Street to Polk, probably has the savviest bunch of raccoons in the Bay Area. Big, succesful, and self-confident.
Raccoons with a bourgeois attitude, civilized fellow residents of the neighborhood.
To the best of my knowledge, none of them has EVER been arrested for disturbing the peace.
I noticed this again late one night as I was heading home. Old-style, modest apartment buildings - two or three floors, two apartments to the floor. One imagines spacious for a couple, or a little tight for a young family. That block is not as populated as nearby streets, given both the buildings, and a school located in the middle.
The intersection of Hyde and Jackson looks charming in the middle of the night. I had almost forgotten that.
Several months ago the bookseller and I were crossing the hill when ahead of us we noticed two huge furry raccoons at the intersection of Pacific and Hyde. They crossed with the green light, and we could see them very calmly and methodically checking each doorway all the way up Hyde Street, alternating hopscotch-like from house to house. The pair had a system, and were in no hurry. I think they paused for the light at Hyde and Jackson, but I'm not entirely sure.
They acted just like an old couple at peace in each other's company.
It would have been cute if they had been smaller. At their size, they owned the street.
The neighborhood is bounded on the west by Van Ness Avenue, on the south by the demilitarized zone (the five block wide stretch between California and Geary Streets), on the north by Vallejo, and on the east by Chinatown. Some parts are heavily Chinese - especially "le Rue de Toishan" (Pacific Avenue) and Hyde and Larkin Streets - whereas the top of Nob Hill is mostly wasp.
Downslope areas are more ethnically diverse - Chinese-Americans, white immigrants from the palest Midwest, Mexicans, Middle-Easterners, a few subcontinentals ...........
And raccoons.
It used to be more whitey-white, as attested by the six or seven churches within a few blocks of my apartment. Three of them are now Chinese, one of the others is abandoned, the remaining two have congregations from outside the area (or their members are too darn lazy to walk a few blocks). In the past, such a wealth of churches attracted 'white' families - a good solid neighborhood in which to raise children.
Now, I suspect, precisely that attracts the raccoons. It's still a good solid neighborhood in which to raise children.
Furry children.
Nob Hill, from Stockton Street to Polk, probably has the savviest bunch of raccoons in the Bay Area. Big, succesful, and self-confident.
Raccoons with a bourgeois attitude, civilized fellow residents of the neighborhood.
To the best of my knowledge, none of them has EVER been arrested for disturbing the peace.
MUSIC MONDAY - BALLS AND A WATER BUFFALO
Friend and colleague Bavaji forwarded a must-see video. If you've ever grooved to bhangra, and the stylings of that mad, bad, mixmaster Bally Sagoo (featuring the HOTTEST bhangra bands in town - or anything even similar), you will enjoy this.
PUNJABI CELEBRATORY MUSIC
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QwWHySXEGaY
Or: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hiTJf8u_1as
[Please note: All characters in the video are clearly identifiable as Panjabis - including the three-legged odd critters, who are wearing the keski - possibly because though amritdari they are not yet formally members of the khalsa. Sat sri akal.]
It is appropriate for the season. Oh yes ji. In all particulars.
E-kvetcher - ball's in your court.
Grant Patel - wake up, dammit, this is right up your alley.
PUNJABI CELEBRATORY MUSIC
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QwWHySXEGaY
Or: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hiTJf8u_1as
[Please note: All characters in the video are clearly identifiable as Panjabis - including the three-legged odd critters, who are wearing the keski - possibly because though amritdari they are not yet formally members of the khalsa. Sat sri akal.]
It is appropriate for the season. Oh yes ji. In all particulars.
E-kvetcher - ball's in your court.
Grant Patel - wake up, dammit, this is right up your alley.
Friday, December 04, 2009
NO PANTIES LEFT BEHIND
At times my father must have really wondered what went on in my mind. It was not that he was too distant to have much familiarity with his offspring, but my brother and I had turned out differently than he expected.
When Dad was a teenager he had been popular with the girls at Beverly Hills High School - everything I heard from people he had known during that era made that clear. And as a young man he had been quite the catch, as photos of him in his pilot's uniform show. Imagine a handsome young fellow with foxy good looks, sparkling eyes, and a very intelligent face, and there you have it: poster boy for the war against the Nazis.
He must have broken many hearts while stationed in England.
When he left the RCAF at war's end and returned stateside he went back to Berkeley for a while, but eventually broke off studying and went to sea. At that time he had a beard - reddish and scraggly - but was still trim and boyish. On shore leave at one point he was introduced to a woman who would eventually marry him.
She took one look at his beard, and sneered: "Are you a poet?!?"
Well, it was the early-fifties. Not many people had beards at that time. And my mother was an English major, so she had probably been exposed to way too many poetasters. Elegant bearded bohemians, heavily into 'literature', writers manqué, serious(!) and sensitive(!).
She despised the type.
Fortunately my dad was not a poet.
Several years later they married.
By that time the beard had disappeared - it had been a discordant hue anyway.
SEVERAL YEARS LATER AND SOMEWHERE ELSE
When I was a teenager, he was still a dashed handsome fellow - militarily trim and erect, wiry.
I remember several times at the local shops, when the young ladies behind the counter would bat their eyes at him. One time a particularly foxy little miss leaned over the counter at me, and ruined my day by whispering "is HE your handsomer older brother?"
It was keenly disappointing - she was delicious looking. A lovely girl, probably fifteen years old. Just what the doctor ordered.
The one of us who stood a chance was not on the market, the one on the market did not stand a chance.
I was not as self-assured as him, and certainly not as well-built. Large gatherings made me nervous (they still do), and I often felt out of place among my peers.
Nor did I seek out the company of the opposite gender - women were a disquieting foreign field.
Yes, I keenly lusted after many of the young ladies of my ken ..... .....
.....
The Netherlands, during my teenage years, was as good as a monastery, albeit one with a splendid view of temptations beyond my reach. Given that we lived in the centre of town, the eye-feast on the street in front of the house every day was incredible.
I lived in perpetual frustration.
When my father went on a trip to London for two weeks, leaving me in charge of the house, he probably expected me to seize the opportunity.
There would be time, there would be privacy. My brother would be away in Tilburg at school, the house was otherwise empty, Dad had given me a generous purse for necessary expenses, and the liquor cabinet was fully stocked and unlocked.
Perfect.
No red-blooded eighteen year old could have asked for more.
If he considered me a potential rake or roué, he would be disappointed. The extent of high living during his absence was twice the amount of pipe tobacco and coffee as normal, and fresh sautéed mushrooms at every meal.
Sheer heaven. Ten whole days.
Instead of the house reeking of shenanigans when he came back, it stank of strong tobacco.
No stockings hanging from the chandelier. No empty panties between the sofa cushions.
No abandoned little brassiere draped over a lamp-shade.
No ribald message scrawled in crimson lipstick on the bathroom mirror.
Not even the faintest trace of feminine fragrance.
He must have thought me somewhat dense. But he hid it well.
When Dad was a teenager he had been popular with the girls at Beverly Hills High School - everything I heard from people he had known during that era made that clear. And as a young man he had been quite the catch, as photos of him in his pilot's uniform show. Imagine a handsome young fellow with foxy good looks, sparkling eyes, and a very intelligent face, and there you have it: poster boy for the war against the Nazis.
He must have broken many hearts while stationed in England.
When he left the RCAF at war's end and returned stateside he went back to Berkeley for a while, but eventually broke off studying and went to sea. At that time he had a beard - reddish and scraggly - but was still trim and boyish. On shore leave at one point he was introduced to a woman who would eventually marry him.
She took one look at his beard, and sneered: "Are you a poet?!?"
Well, it was the early-fifties. Not many people had beards at that time. And my mother was an English major, so she had probably been exposed to way too many poetasters. Elegant bearded bohemians, heavily into 'literature', writers manqué, serious(!) and sensitive(!).
She despised the type.
Fortunately my dad was not a poet.
Several years later they married.
By that time the beard had disappeared - it had been a discordant hue anyway.
SEVERAL YEARS LATER AND SOMEWHERE ELSE
When I was a teenager, he was still a dashed handsome fellow - militarily trim and erect, wiry.
I remember several times at the local shops, when the young ladies behind the counter would bat their eyes at him. One time a particularly foxy little miss leaned over the counter at me, and ruined my day by whispering "is HE your handsomer older brother?"
It was keenly disappointing - she was delicious looking. A lovely girl, probably fifteen years old. Just what the doctor ordered.
'--- Is HE your handsomer older brother? ---'
The one of us who stood a chance was not on the market, the one on the market did not stand a chance.
I was not as self-assured as him, and certainly not as well-built. Large gatherings made me nervous (they still do), and I often felt out of place among my peers.
Nor did I seek out the company of the opposite gender - women were a disquieting foreign field.
Yes, I keenly lusted after many of the young ladies of my ken ..... .....
.....
The Netherlands, during my teenage years, was as good as a monastery, albeit one with a splendid view of temptations beyond my reach. Given that we lived in the centre of town, the eye-feast on the street in front of the house every day was incredible.
I lived in perpetual frustration.
When my father went on a trip to London for two weeks, leaving me in charge of the house, he probably expected me to seize the opportunity.
There would be time, there would be privacy. My brother would be away in Tilburg at school, the house was otherwise empty, Dad had given me a generous purse for necessary expenses, and the liquor cabinet was fully stocked and unlocked.
Perfect.
No red-blooded eighteen year old could have asked for more.
If he considered me a potential rake or roué, he would be disappointed. The extent of high living during his absence was twice the amount of pipe tobacco and coffee as normal, and fresh sautéed mushrooms at every meal.
Sheer heaven. Ten whole days.
Instead of the house reeking of shenanigans when he came back, it stank of strong tobacco.
No stockings hanging from the chandelier. No empty panties between the sofa cushions.
No abandoned little brassiere draped over a lamp-shade.
No ribald message scrawled in crimson lipstick on the bathroom mirror.
Not even the faintest trace of feminine fragrance.
He must have thought me somewhat dense. But he hid it well.
Thursday, December 03, 2009
THE FAMILY CLYSTER
The well-informed reader will know that 'clyster' is a word for an old-fashioned appliance much favoured by medical men during the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries. It was somewhat fearsome, and modern practitioners would undoubtedly frown on a solidly made, reusable rectal syringe, with a long metal plunger and a pointy metal nozzle.
Occasionally one finds them in antique stores, comically mis-identified by the proprietor, who may never have conceived of such a thing.
Nowadays rubber squeeze bulbs and softer insertion devices are more common.
Although I really wonder how common.... outside of certain fetishist circles on Polk Street, or among aficionados of strange health-regimens, most people balk at the very idea of an enema.
[Per Wikipedia: 'An enema (plural enemata or enemas) is the procedure of introducing liquids into the rectum and colon via the anus. The increasing volume of the liquid causes rapid expansion of the lower intestinal tract, often resulting in very uncomfortable bloating, cramping, powerful peristalsis, a feeling of extreme urgency and complete evacuation.....']
WINONA AND EILEEN
My mother kept a device in the medicine cabinet which she fondly referred to as 'the trusty old family clyster'. Rubber squeeze bulb, flexible tubing, smooth plug-like nozzle.
Very pink, at once both obscene and clinical looking.
To the best of my knowledge it had never once been used.
She had acquired the enema shortly after marriage - possibly a wedding gift from one of her college friends - and there is probably some truth to the rumour that she had initially put it in the nightstand of the guest bedroom when my grandmother Eileen came to visit. My mother did not particularly like her mother-in-law at that time, and seeding the guest bedroom with that device was, perhaps, a manifestation of passive aggressive "hospitality".
It may also have been a comment of culinary disdain - Winona had been told that she was a poor cook (true), and Eileen did food in a rather severe Protestant fashion (string beans in the pressure cooker for half an hour).
The two women were rivals for the rank of worst cook within the family. Both had come from households with servants, both had been in the military, both had lived rather bachelor-like independent lives for several years.
Such circumstances are not exactly conducive to any great culinary anal-retention, you will agree.
Digestive issues may have been a recurring subject of conversation.
I have no idea how my grandmother reacted when she found the enema.
She visited us several more times over the next two decades.
I recall that she and my mother got along well enough in later years, but those visits were never-the-less a strain on my mother.
[Once my mother refused to speak to me for a week after grandmother and I recited most of Macbeth at each other one afternoon. She was not particularly fond of Shakespeare, and resented us having that much in common. Such pedestrian literary tastes! Why had I bothered learning that Scottish play, when I could have, and should have, memorized Beowulf?!!? "Hwaet! We gardena in geardagum, theod-kyninga, thrym gefrunon, hu tha aethelingas ellen fremedon..... ".]
"CLEAN" LIVING
When we moved to Valkenswaard, the enema was stashed in the bathroom cabinet. Where it would inevitably be discovered by a cleaning lady at some point.
This would be followed by a startled wail or a howl - if they recognized what it was.
My mother lived for those moments.
For some reason we had a whole succession of cleaning ladies. Only two stayed with us for very long - Mrs. Geene and Mrs. Vos. Both were strong-minded woman, very admirable.
No, I have no idea who may have ended up with that enema in the years since my mother died.
Nor do I really want to know.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Occasionally one finds them in antique stores, comically mis-identified by the proprietor, who may never have conceived of such a thing.
Nowadays rubber squeeze bulbs and softer insertion devices are more common.
Although I really wonder how common.... outside of certain fetishist circles on Polk Street, or among aficionados of strange health-regimens, most people balk at the very idea of an enema.
[Per Wikipedia: 'An enema (plural enemata or enemas) is the procedure of introducing liquids into the rectum and colon via the anus. The increasing volume of the liquid causes rapid expansion of the lower intestinal tract, often resulting in very uncomfortable bloating, cramping, powerful peristalsis, a feeling of extreme urgency and complete evacuation.....']
WINONA AND EILEEN
My mother kept a device in the medicine cabinet which she fondly referred to as 'the trusty old family clyster'. Rubber squeeze bulb, flexible tubing, smooth plug-like nozzle.
Very pink, at once both obscene and clinical looking.
To the best of my knowledge it had never once been used.
She had acquired the enema shortly after marriage - possibly a wedding gift from one of her college friends - and there is probably some truth to the rumour that she had initially put it in the nightstand of the guest bedroom when my grandmother Eileen came to visit. My mother did not particularly like her mother-in-law at that time, and seeding the guest bedroom with that device was, perhaps, a manifestation of passive aggressive "hospitality".
It may also have been a comment of culinary disdain - Winona had been told that she was a poor cook (true), and Eileen did food in a rather severe Protestant fashion (string beans in the pressure cooker for half an hour).
The two women were rivals for the rank of worst cook within the family. Both had come from households with servants, both had been in the military, both had lived rather bachelor-like independent lives for several years.
Such circumstances are not exactly conducive to any great culinary anal-retention, you will agree.
Digestive issues may have been a recurring subject of conversation.
I have no idea how my grandmother reacted when she found the enema.
She visited us several more times over the next two decades.
I recall that she and my mother got along well enough in later years, but those visits were never-the-less a strain on my mother.
[Once my mother refused to speak to me for a week after grandmother and I recited most of Macbeth at each other one afternoon. She was not particularly fond of Shakespeare, and resented us having that much in common. Such pedestrian literary tastes! Why had I bothered learning that Scottish play, when I could have, and should have, memorized Beowulf?!!? "Hwaet! We gardena in geardagum, theod-kyninga, thrym gefrunon, hu tha aethelingas ellen fremedon..... ".]
"CLEAN" LIVING
When we moved to Valkenswaard, the enema was stashed in the bathroom cabinet. Where it would inevitably be discovered by a cleaning lady at some point.
This would be followed by a startled wail or a howl - if they recognized what it was.
My mother lived for those moments.
For some reason we had a whole succession of cleaning ladies. Only two stayed with us for very long - Mrs. Geene and Mrs. Vos. Both were strong-minded woman, very admirable.
No, I have no idea who may have ended up with that enema in the years since my mother died.
Nor do I really want to know.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
DREAMY ADOLESCENCE
I was probably a peculiar fourteen year old. For which I give all credit to my home environment.
My older brother Tobias was the local chess prodigy, and had thousands of games memorized. He could also quote all of Charles Dickens, and the bible in both Dutch and English.
These eccentricities made holding a conversation with him hard, as his grammar school friends one by one had discovered. His friends from the Hertog Jan College were a bit more like him.
There was only one of them with whom I really got along - he lent me Multatuli's book 'Max Havelaar'. It was the first Dutch book I had read in quite a while at the time - we did not have many Dutch books in the house.
[It wasn't untill later that I discovered the Dutch poets and playwrights, as well as many fine writers. What I read was in our bookshelves, and that reflected the home language.]
My mother was an avid reader, and regularly received packages from Blackwells. At one point I tried counting how many books were in the house, and gave up at around five thousand, with probably a far greater number not included in the count. Of course not all of the books were hers, but many of them were.
Between the four of us we were probably responsible for quite a bit of deforestation, as there were bookshelves in every room including the hayloft over the stables. And one of the sheds.
Children's books. Science Fiction. Poetry. Mythology. Art.
Reference. Textual Criticism. Architecture. Religious Studies.
Old Norse, Old Irish, Old English - in the original languages, plus translated, annotated.
Mystery Novels.
Medicine.
That last category was one shared by both of my parents, though neither were medical people.
By the time I was fourteen I had read all of Kipling, Saki (H.H. Munro), Shakespeare, Nabokov, Heinlein, Poul Anderson, Simenon, Conan Doyle, Lewis Carroll, C.S. Lewis, plus Tanach and the Christian Subsequentia.
All of the National Geographic mags published between 1950 and 1974. Ditto for all issues of The Magazine of Fantasy And Science Fiction, from founding date in 1949 onward. Two and a half decades worth of Scientific American. A decade and a half of Horizon Magazine. The Larouse Gastronomique.
The medical books I browsed through had told me all about human reproduction and digestion by the time I was nine, and I had gotten into trouble at school when Mijnheer Goes discovered me drawing a detailed diagram of the urinary system for my classmates - with "witty" asides about all the things that could go wrong.
The Merck Manual inflamed my imagination with all manner of fascinating diseases, their diagnosis and prognosis, and the recommended treatment.
I happily quoted clinical jargon, and got sent home for using 'bad language'.
I also read Candide by Voltaire.
Not because I was precocious and intellectual, which you might expect me to claim (I won't), but because the cover intrigued me.
THERE WAS A NAKED BREAST ON THE COVER!
A BEAUTIFUL GORGEOUS CREAM-HUED WELL-ROUNDED PERKY BREAST!!!
WITH A ROSY NIPPLE!!!!!
I read the entire book very attentively trying to find that breast.
Which, of course, also explains much of the Science Fiction I had read, as pulp-covers were delightfully lurid and imagination-sparking. You've seen the illustration style - buxom young thing with fruity cleavage is distressed in the fore-ground, a very handsome and erect rocket is in the middle distance, the mountains and sky in the background are not on earth.
Like Candide, the covers had very little if anything to do with the contents. But the Sci-fi was infinitely more interesting than Candide, much of which must have gone right over my head.
Now, at fifty years of age, I have little urge to read anymore Science-Fiction, but I think I ought to try reading Candide again.
Perhaps I will finally find that naked breast.
If I do, it will remind me of my well-spent youth.
My older brother Tobias was the local chess prodigy, and had thousands of games memorized. He could also quote all of Charles Dickens, and the bible in both Dutch and English.
These eccentricities made holding a conversation with him hard, as his grammar school friends one by one had discovered. His friends from the Hertog Jan College were a bit more like him.
There was only one of them with whom I really got along - he lent me Multatuli's book 'Max Havelaar'. It was the first Dutch book I had read in quite a while at the time - we did not have many Dutch books in the house.
[It wasn't untill later that I discovered the Dutch poets and playwrights, as well as many fine writers. What I read was in our bookshelves, and that reflected the home language.]
My mother was an avid reader, and regularly received packages from Blackwells. At one point I tried counting how many books were in the house, and gave up at around five thousand, with probably a far greater number not included in the count. Of course not all of the books were hers, but many of them were.
Between the four of us we were probably responsible for quite a bit of deforestation, as there were bookshelves in every room including the hayloft over the stables. And one of the sheds.
Children's books. Science Fiction. Poetry. Mythology. Art.
Reference. Textual Criticism. Architecture. Religious Studies.
Old Norse, Old Irish, Old English - in the original languages, plus translated, annotated.
Mystery Novels.
Medicine.
That last category was one shared by both of my parents, though neither were medical people.
By the time I was fourteen I had read all of Kipling, Saki (H.H. Munro), Shakespeare, Nabokov, Heinlein, Poul Anderson, Simenon, Conan Doyle, Lewis Carroll, C.S. Lewis, plus Tanach and the Christian Subsequentia.
All of the National Geographic mags published between 1950 and 1974. Ditto for all issues of The Magazine of Fantasy And Science Fiction, from founding date in 1949 onward. Two and a half decades worth of Scientific American. A decade and a half of Horizon Magazine. The Larouse Gastronomique.
The medical books I browsed through had told me all about human reproduction and digestion by the time I was nine, and I had gotten into trouble at school when Mijnheer Goes discovered me drawing a detailed diagram of the urinary system for my classmates - with "witty" asides about all the things that could go wrong.
The Merck Manual inflamed my imagination with all manner of fascinating diseases, their diagnosis and prognosis, and the recommended treatment.
I happily quoted clinical jargon, and got sent home for using 'bad language'.
I also read Candide by Voltaire.
Not because I was precocious and intellectual, which you might expect me to claim (I won't), but because the cover intrigued me.
THERE WAS A NAKED BREAST ON THE COVER!
A BEAUTIFUL GORGEOUS CREAM-HUED WELL-ROUNDED PERKY BREAST!!!
WITH A ROSY NIPPLE!!!!!
I read the entire book very attentively trying to find that breast.
Which, of course, also explains much of the Science Fiction I had read, as pulp-covers were delightfully lurid and imagination-sparking. You've seen the illustration style - buxom young thing with fruity cleavage is distressed in the fore-ground, a very handsome and erect rocket is in the middle distance, the mountains and sky in the background are not on earth.
Like Candide, the covers had very little if anything to do with the contents. But the Sci-fi was infinitely more interesting than Candide, much of which must have gone right over my head.
Now, at fifty years of age, I have little urge to read anymore Science-Fiction, but I think I ought to try reading Candide again.
Perhaps I will finally find that naked breast.
If I do, it will remind me of my well-spent youth.
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
THE GREAT HEALTHCARE DEBATE
Spent most of the morning in a company-wide meeting about our employee insurance plan.
There was deeply thrilling in-depth discussion of options, deductibles, copays, old age, prenatal care, assisted living, dependant care, premature senility, family coverage, arthritic knees, childhood disease, massive gastric failure, dental coverage, hair loss, osteoporotic degredation, and oedematic swelling.......
Basically, a lot of existential bullcrap about getting old.
Angst, and stuff.
At least, that's what I got out of it.
One of the salespeople, on speakerphone conference call, shivered his timbers about which options were best for him and his family. He has four kids, all of whom have been in the emergency room numerous times in the last year, he can guarantee that they'll be there again in the coming year. It's kinda a regular thing, seeing as they're all healthy kids.
Due, probably, to hereditary rambunction. Or ADD. Just guessing.
His concern was that the copays will prove onerous.
He worried at great and repetitive length. For thirty long and repetitive minutes. Repeatedly, and in detail. Despite the proffered explanations, he still had questions - many of them remarkably identical to previous questions. About children's accidents, emergency room visits, and such like. And copayment thereof, specifically.
It was.... a bit repetitive.
Dude! Children's valium is covered!
Get those brats properly drugged, and they'll be far less accident prone. Better living through medication is not just a phrase, it's a life-style choice THAT SAVES YOU MONEY!
Necessary restraint devices are also fully refundable.
Under preventative medicine.
Gotta keep those little organ donors healthy till adulthood.
There was deeply thrilling in-depth discussion of options, deductibles, copays, old age, prenatal care, assisted living, dependant care, premature senility, family coverage, arthritic knees, childhood disease, massive gastric failure, dental coverage, hair loss, osteoporotic degredation, and oedematic swelling.......
Basically, a lot of existential bullcrap about getting old.
Angst, and stuff.
At least, that's what I got out of it.
One of the salespeople, on speakerphone conference call, shivered his timbers about which options were best for him and his family. He has four kids, all of whom have been in the emergency room numerous times in the last year, he can guarantee that they'll be there again in the coming year. It's kinda a regular thing, seeing as they're all healthy kids.
Due, probably, to hereditary rambunction. Or ADD. Just guessing.
His concern was that the copays will prove onerous.
He worried at great and repetitive length. For thirty long and repetitive minutes. Repeatedly, and in detail. Despite the proffered explanations, he still had questions - many of them remarkably identical to previous questions. About children's accidents, emergency room visits, and such like. And copayment thereof, specifically.
It was.... a bit repetitive.
Dude! Children's valium is covered!
Get those brats properly drugged, and they'll be far less accident prone. Better living through medication is not just a phrase, it's a life-style choice THAT SAVES YOU MONEY!
Necessary restraint devices are also fully refundable.
Under preventative medicine.
Gotta keep those little organ donors healthy till adulthood.
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