Earlier today another blogger made mention of Peysach. Which, of course, it’s nowhere near. Yet it is worth bringing up, because the seder is the quintessential Jewish meal. Yes, I know – some of you are going to mention shabbes, with either boiled chicken (old country) or brisket ('Neva-gyork Gorod') as being much more quintessential – or even gehakte leber / gefilte fish / kasha varnishkes etcetera – but really, the idea of a representative sampling of Jews sitting around and eating together without bellyaching is Peysach and ONLY Peysach.
Oh. Forget I said anything about kvetching. I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.
All those other foods I mentioned are also eaten by Gentiles. Even kasha – and significantly, there is NO mention of kasha anywhere in Torah, proving that it is an amhoretzishe treiferei, repolsiv im gonzen, un' vorem frestu aza shrikkelikke garbage?
Many other people also have signature ‘quintessence’ meals. But few groups have an entire attitude that goes with the eating together. Thanksgiving comes close, and I suppose for many Christmas dinner has an overlay of customs and essential elements that make it ethno-specific. But these have universal characteristics, and in the United States at least overlap several different groups – a temporary shared community.
Ritual, but not really fundamental.
One other group DOES have a strong and distinct shared meal attitude: the Cantonese.
Being able to eat together is the be-all and end-all of civilization. Punkt.
食嘢先!Eat first!
Nothing quite so cheers up and changes outlook for a Cantonese person as the prospect of food in company. It isn’t just hunger. In fact, hunger is unimportant entirely. Forget anything you may have read about a long history of famine and starvation, likewise that intellectualized crap about "have you eaten yet" being the common greeting because of a lack of sufficient food.
If food were mere sustenance, asking 'have you eaten yet' would make no sense. Just like the questions 'how do you do', 'how ya doing', and 'how’s it going' all assume that you actually are doing or experiencing, 'have you eaten yet' takes for granted that there is something positive that can be reported, and that you WILL eat. Food is the point of the query.
There are two characteristics that distinguish the Cantonese in the eyes of other Chinese: they have the most eloquent curses, and they are the most food-centered of all Chinese subcultures.
你食咗飯未呀?Nei sik-tzo fan mei ah?
Have you eaten yet? The answer tells the person who asked the question what the possibilities are. The acme of all socializing options for a Cantonese person is eating in company. Eat together, share food. Talk, boast, extend comfort, sing, nurture, nourish. Tell jokes. Weep, wail, complain about your in-laws and your children. Instruct the next generation while cherishing older people.
Put the shared food in the middle, everyone reach in and take what they need.
The popular choice for white people eating at a Chinese restaurant is the rice-plate, with a single serving of something per person. It's mine, dammit, and I'm not sharing. Mine! All mine! Piss off!
It just isn't very real. Unless you are forced to dine alone.
The idea of several people together all eating exactly the same dish and same quantity is flabbergasting to the Cantonese. Family-style dining epitomizes their approach to communal eating, and they truly cannot understand the regimented apportionment of food so characteristic of WASPs. When all four of you order Sweet and Sour Pork over rice, expect the kitchen staff to stick their heads into the dining room to stare at you. Truly, white people are weird.
"Whaddya mean they aint' sharing? What's the expletive point of even eating together if they're all gonna have the same thing? Nobody is that bloody fond of Kung Pao Beef!!!"
If you can grasp that anarchic individuality is the governing order at a Cantonese meal, then you will understand both the Cantonese temperament, and the Cantonese restaurant.
Among friends at table, everybody suggests and argues over choices from the menu, picks and chooses from the plates in the centre, offers others the choicest bits, eats what they want, and knows about what they are eating.
Food is the social lubricant: the means whereby they got together, and the tool that enabled interaction.
If your brother shows up late for supper, there's a very good reason: he was at the ka-fay diem regaling pals with a tall tale while they all stuffed their faces with pastries and slurped coffee.
Mei-mei came home late from school? Steamed rice sheet noodle with shrimp - and friends!
Ah-Mun suddenly rushed out of the office? The local bakery just took a batch of fresh egg-tarts out of the oven, gotta get some for the gang before they're all gone!
What do many Cantonese do after a long formal meal? Why, they go out together for mid-night snacks, of course!
The idea of telling the tale of yetzias mitzrayim all night long could not possibly appeal to the Cantonese. Amidst the fray of flying chopsticks, they will speak primarily of dining, especially shared dining. Not only this meal, but also other meals - all meals that ever were and all meals yet to be, are represented at this table, and all the generations will remember and relive these meals.
"Here, have this drumstick. Is there more tea? Pass the salt-baked shrimp, and can I refill your rice bowl? Is there any more Tung-po pork?
Mmmmmm, this stirfried choisum is SCRUMPTUOUS!"
If, at the break of dawn, after an all night feast, someone came and said "masters, the time for the morning shema has come", the Cantonese response would be "hey, let's all go have breakfast first". Sik faaaaahn! Totally.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
DON'T PLAY WELL WITH OTHERS
I'm going to have to start watching what I eat. I just finished lunch, and already the gout is kicking in. My left foot is aching and swollen.
This isn't good - my coworkers already regard me as a borderline crotchet, I don't want them to think that they can get away with anything because I'm an elderly fossil.
Most of all, I don't want them to ever know that they can easily outrun me.
Nor do I want them to ever use a phrase like this:
"At the end of the day, the synergies we are trying to leverage and shifting paradigms we are hoping to target should allow us to raise the bar, think outside the box and drill down to our core competencies. "
What? What the intercourse does that actually mean?
Am I even in your demographic?
Fellow blogger Treppenwitz wrote that bushwa about synergetic paradigms and competent core targeting. Blame him. Had something to do with a bad night's sleep. He broke several ribs partying like a crazed biker bitch a few weeks ago, and has been swilling booze for painkillers ever since. Ongoing rum jag. Plus codeine and Red Bulls.
When last seen, he was on 101 at ninety plus miles an hour, targeting Keebler Elves with an assault rifle.
Lock your doors, mamas, he's pissed.
MORE FROM RANTING TREPP: ONE FOR EACH EYE DEPARTMENT
"I hate women who wear extremely revealing clothing who then act offended when my eyes go where nature demands they go. You don't want me to look at your boobies? Don't put them out where I can't help but stare at them. I'm married and relatively polite... but I'm not dead. "
Dude, I know where you're coming from. Hot dog.
This isn't good - my coworkers already regard me as a borderline crotchet, I don't want them to think that they can get away with anything because I'm an elderly fossil.
Most of all, I don't want them to ever know that they can easily outrun me.
Nor do I want them to ever use a phrase like this:
"At the end of the day, the synergies we are trying to leverage and shifting paradigms we are hoping to target should allow us to raise the bar, think outside the box and drill down to our core competencies. "
What? What the intercourse does that actually mean?
Am I even in your demographic?
Fellow blogger Treppenwitz wrote that bushwa about synergetic paradigms and competent core targeting. Blame him. Had something to do with a bad night's sleep. He broke several ribs partying like a crazed biker bitch a few weeks ago, and has been swilling booze for painkillers ever since. Ongoing rum jag. Plus codeine and Red Bulls.
When last seen, he was on 101 at ninety plus miles an hour, targeting Keebler Elves with an assault rifle.
Lock your doors, mamas, he's pissed.
MORE FROM RANTING TREPP: ONE FOR EACH EYE DEPARTMENT
"I hate women who wear extremely revealing clothing who then act offended when my eyes go where nature demands they go. You don't want me to look at your boobies? Don't put them out where I can't help but stare at them. I'm married and relatively polite... but I'm not dead. "
Dude, I know where you're coming from. Hot dog.
Monday, July 12, 2010
MURDER SEX AND GREEK FOOD
There's an octopus in Europe with a price on his head. Many Northern Europeans are CONVINCED that the eight-armed cephalopodic daemon-beast must have cursed the most deserving soccer team in history and caused the victory of the degenerate Spanish pigbucketeatingmen.
I am not bitter about the World-Cup victory of that bunch. Who cares? Spain doesn't have an economy, and they all smell like elderberries anyhow. Losers.
I am sad for the octopus.
Not because of the death-threats that have been made (the creature has been in hiding since sometime last week), but because of sex.
Sex. Sex. Sex. Yes, sex.
From Wikipedia:
Reproduction is a cause of death: males can only live for a few months after mating, and females die shortly after their eggs hatch.
Imagine how much different the dating scene would be if humans were like that.
A broken heart might be the best thing possible. Rejected suitors would leave everyone baffled by their suicides.......
Herewith another Wikisample:
"Octopuses have three hearts. Two pump blood through each of the two gills, while the third pumps blood through the body. Octopus blood contains the copper-rich protein hemocyanin for transporting oxygen. Although less efficient under normal conditions than the iron-rich hemoglobin of vertebrates, in cold conditions with low oxygen pressure, hemocyanin oxygen transportation is more efficient than hemoglobin oxygen transportation. The hemocyanin is dissolved in the plasma instead of being carried within red blood cells and gives the blood a blue color. Octopuses draw water into their mantle cavity where it passes through its gills. As mollusks, octopuses have gills that are finely divided and vascularized outgrowths of either the outer or the inner body surface."
[cut]
"In some countries, octopuses are on the list of experimental animals on which surgery may not be performed without anesthesia. In the UK, cephalopods such as octopuses are regarded as honorary vertebrates under the Animals (Scientific Procedures) Act 1986."
[End quote.]
Wow. Fascinating. Shades of Doctor Zoidberg.
Multi-hearted honourary vertebrate. Smells like anchovies.
I am not bitter about the World-Cup victory of that bunch. Who cares? Spain doesn't have an economy, and they all smell like elderberries anyhow. Losers.
I am sad for the octopus.
Not because of the death-threats that have been made (the creature has been in hiding since sometime last week), but because of sex.
Sex. Sex. Sex. Yes, sex.
From Wikipedia:
Reproduction is a cause of death: males can only live for a few months after mating, and females die shortly after their eggs hatch.
Imagine how much different the dating scene would be if humans were like that.
A broken heart might be the best thing possible. Rejected suitors would leave everyone baffled by their suicides.......
Herewith another Wikisample:
"Octopuses have three hearts. Two pump blood through each of the two gills, while the third pumps blood through the body. Octopus blood contains the copper-rich protein hemocyanin for transporting oxygen. Although less efficient under normal conditions than the iron-rich hemoglobin of vertebrates, in cold conditions with low oxygen pressure, hemocyanin oxygen transportation is more efficient than hemoglobin oxygen transportation. The hemocyanin is dissolved in the plasma instead of being carried within red blood cells and gives the blood a blue color. Octopuses draw water into their mantle cavity where it passes through its gills. As mollusks, octopuses have gills that are finely divided and vascularized outgrowths of either the outer or the inner body surface."
[cut]
"In some countries, octopuses are on the list of experimental animals on which surgery may not be performed without anesthesia. In the UK, cephalopods such as octopuses are regarded as honorary vertebrates under the Animals (Scientific Procedures) Act 1986."
[End quote.]
Wow. Fascinating. Shades of Doctor Zoidberg.
Multi-hearted honourary vertebrate. Smells like anchovies.
Friday, July 09, 2010
BLACK VAMPIRE JESUS ATE MY CAT!
However it is comforting to know that he respects dead whores.
You can thank two people for this.
On Midianite Manna, I discovered a youtube video of someone reading aloud from a blogpost by ‘The Bloggess’.
[VIDEO: Declamatory Jesus, and the count of vagina ]
Yes, thank both of them.
They told me to write "black vampire JESUS ate my cat" which is something I really wasn’t ready to admit, obviously – for one thing, he’s black, and as a sensitive person living in the SF Bay Area I am aware that black people are as gentle and nurturing as anybody else.
As are vampires ('the sanguinarily sustained').
And Jesuses (or is that ‘Jesii’?) too.
It hurts that someone who is so intrinsically likeable would EAT my cat.
He should’ve had tofu and wheatgrass instead, but he’s a vampire.
The point is, I was in a state of denial. About the cat.
And the dead whores ("bankcrypt nightshift").
But mostly about Jesus AND the cat.
What, you’ve never heard of The Bloggess?
Poor you.
In a post back in January of last year, she listed the Jesus-related Google searches that led readers to her blog.
Number one was "why is Jesus not a zombie?"
Now, given that Midianite Manna has already embraced the prospect of misguided people visiting her blog by naming today's post 'Why is Jesus not a Zombie?', even if I wanted to jump on that bandwagon, I'd be honour-bound not to Bogart her. That would be opportunistic, and rather tacky.
So, just second best - "Jesus likes squirrels" - or something even lower down the list.
Problem is, I don't settle for second best. Hence the totally unique title of my post.
And I'm not an opportunist either - I want NO visits from misguided people.
I just have a dead cat.
Sorry, 'had'.
Jesus is eyeing my squirrel.
Bad Jesus.
You can thank two people for this.
On Midianite Manna, I discovered a youtube video of someone reading aloud from a blogpost by ‘The Bloggess’.
[VIDEO: Declamatory Jesus, and the count of vagina ]
Yes, thank both of them.
They told me to write "black vampire JESUS ate my cat" which is something I really wasn’t ready to admit, obviously – for one thing, he’s black, and as a sensitive person living in the SF Bay Area I am aware that black people are as gentle and nurturing as anybody else.
As are vampires ('the sanguinarily sustained').
And Jesuses (or is that ‘Jesii’?) too.
It hurts that someone who is so intrinsically likeable would EAT my cat.
He should’ve had tofu and wheatgrass instead, but he’s a vampire.
The point is, I was in a state of denial. About the cat.
And the dead whores ("bankcrypt nightshift").
But mostly about Jesus AND the cat.
What, you’ve never heard of The Bloggess?
Poor you.
In a post back in January of last year, she listed the Jesus-related Google searches that led readers to her blog.
Number one was "why is Jesus not a zombie?"
Now, given that Midianite Manna has already embraced the prospect of misguided people visiting her blog by naming today's post 'Why is Jesus not a Zombie?', even if I wanted to jump on that bandwagon, I'd be honour-bound not to Bogart her. That would be opportunistic, and rather tacky.
So, just second best - "Jesus likes squirrels" - or something even lower down the list.
Problem is, I don't settle for second best. Hence the totally unique title of my post.
And I'm not an opportunist either - I want NO visits from misguided people.
I just have a dead cat.
Sorry, 'had'.
Jesus is eyeing my squirrel.
Bad Jesus.
Thursday, July 08, 2010
RANDOM COMMENT: ACADEMIC ANTI-SEMITES
An anonymous commenter ('Random Dude') underneath a recent post at Pro-Israel Bay Bloggers left the following sharp opinion:
[Quote]
" .. Jess Ghannam (University of California, San Francisco) and Andrew Paul Gutierrez (University of California, Berkeley) are both signatories to the US Campaign for an Academic and Cultural Boycott of Israel, and have spent much time making the campuses of their universities as inhospitable to Jews as possible. Both where at that rally, both expressed their hate for Israel on the street, and both are clearly in cahoots with Forrest Schmidt and Dick Becker, whose vile hategroup has had activists on campus and in the faculty and administration of both institutions for several years.
A reasonably full list of academic hatemongers can be found here: http://usacbi.wordpress.com/endorsers/
These people represent the most vile and despicable form of anti-Semitism: Politically correct pseudo-intellectuals. The authorities in San Francisco and the greater Bay Area know that catering to the comfortable bourgeois anti-Semitism of the middle-classes pays off in the end; radical support at the voting booth, continued support for a political career.
Even the police recognize this. They too are part of the petite bourgeois machine, they too wish to be accepted. Or at least, not hindered in their careers. .. "
[End quote]
SOURCE: https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7769014608405032519&postID=1225662340495476838&isPopup=true
Underneath this post:
http://proisraelbaybloggers.blogspot.com/2010/07/international-answer-enables-jew-hating.html
It's angry, and to the point. I myself cannot think of any counterarguments to his assertion, the more so as I have personally experienced both SF State and UC Berkeley as thoroughly rotten environments, sodden with socially-accepted hatred and official apathy.
The only time when the administration of either university gives a damn about the bigoted and damaging atmosphere on campus is when someone gets whacked or an alumnus with money raises hell. Other than that, business as usual. Which means that they wish 'those pests' would stop complaining.
I would be keen to see someone else's point of view, though. There are undoubtedly students and faculty who would wish to counter Random Dude's assessment. Perhaps they have experienced things differently.
Or have a different take on the anti-Israel agitation.
Feel free to react, either at PIBB or underneath this post.
[Quote]
" .. Jess Ghannam (University of California, San Francisco) and Andrew Paul Gutierrez (University of California, Berkeley) are both signatories to the US Campaign for an Academic and Cultural Boycott of Israel, and have spent much time making the campuses of their universities as inhospitable to Jews as possible. Both where at that rally, both expressed their hate for Israel on the street, and both are clearly in cahoots with Forrest Schmidt and Dick Becker, whose vile hategroup has had activists on campus and in the faculty and administration of both institutions for several years.
A reasonably full list of academic hatemongers can be found here: http://usacbi.wordpress.com/endorsers/
These people represent the most vile and despicable form of anti-Semitism: Politically correct pseudo-intellectuals. The authorities in San Francisco and the greater Bay Area know that catering to the comfortable bourgeois anti-Semitism of the middle-classes pays off in the end; radical support at the voting booth, continued support for a political career.
Even the police recognize this. They too are part of the petite bourgeois machine, they too wish to be accepted. Or at least, not hindered in their careers. .. "
[End quote]
SOURCE: https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7769014608405032519&postID=1225662340495476838&isPopup=true
Underneath this post:
http://proisraelbaybloggers.blogspot.com/2010/07/international-answer-enables-jew-hating.html
It's angry, and to the point. I myself cannot think of any counterarguments to his assertion, the more so as I have personally experienced both SF State and UC Berkeley as thoroughly rotten environments, sodden with socially-accepted hatred and official apathy.
The only time when the administration of either university gives a damn about the bigoted and damaging atmosphere on campus is when someone gets whacked or an alumnus with money raises hell. Other than that, business as usual. Which means that they wish 'those pests' would stop complaining.
I would be keen to see someone else's point of view, though. There are undoubtedly students and faculty who would wish to counter Random Dude's assessment. Perhaps they have experienced things differently.
Or have a different take on the anti-Israel agitation.
Feel free to react, either at PIBB or underneath this post.
MEHSERLE VERDICT MOMENTARILY
The verdict in the Mehserle trial will be announced in mere minutes.
I expect that agitators from ANSWER are already chomping at the bit in Oakland; they were extremely evident during the riots last year.
Poeple like Richard Becker and Forrest Schmidt live for moments like this.
I expect that agitators from ANSWER are already chomping at the bit in Oakland; they were extremely evident during the riots last year.
Poeple like Richard Becker and Forrest Schmidt live for moments like this.
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
DICK BECKER, FORREST SCHMIDT, CODEPINK, AND HATE
Three people were assaulted by pro-Palestinian demonstrators at a protest in front of the Israeli Consulate in San Francisco yesterday evening. Two of the victims were wearing kippot.
It is quite likely that they were targeted BECAUSE they were wearing kippot.
All three were in their fifties or sixties, whereas their attackers were fit and young (and in one case, hulking).
Hate crime is seldom bold. But always transparent.
The event was facilitated by International ANSWER, which has expended considerable effort infiltrating many organizations over the past several years - not only the pro-Palestinian PC brigade and anti-Semitic fringe elements in Berkeley, Oakland, and San Francisco, but also the peace movements, radical anti-war activist circles, unions, dockworkers, farmworkers, and hotelworkers.
Their efforts have paid off, and they have friends among the top levels of San Francisco's city government.
Members of Code Pink and the Arab Resource Organizing Center were also there - the first an alleged peace group, the second generously funded by the Tides Center, "encouraged" by the National Lawyers Guild, and heavily involved in anti-Israel agitation at Bay Area universities.
"Israel out of the Middle-East"
---Charming slogan heard at the end of the rally.
Several voices then added "Israel out of the world".
Faculty members from SF State U and UC Berkeley were also present at the hate-fest, enthusiastically cheering the prospect of Israel's destruction.
An angry but accurate report of the event can be found here:
http://anarchozionist.blogspot.com/2010/07/counter-demo-post-mortem.html.
Another account of the event has been posted here: http://proisraelbaybloggers.blogspot.com/2010/07/international-answer-enables-jew-hating.html
As usual, do not leave demonstrations by yourself.
Dick Becker and Forrest Schmidt will not admit ANYresponsibility for riling the mob up, and the murderous rage that results is purely the responsibility of the Jew-haters and Palestinian activists themselves.
The only person who is guaranteed not to become violent is Rusty, whose life and beatific smile are a testament to the efficacy of certain substances and a carryover from the hippie area.
Terry, on the other hand, is quite certifiable.
It is quite likely that they were targeted BECAUSE they were wearing kippot.
All three were in their fifties or sixties, whereas their attackers were fit and young (and in one case, hulking).
Hate crime is seldom bold. But always transparent.
The event was facilitated by International ANSWER, which has expended considerable effort infiltrating many organizations over the past several years - not only the pro-Palestinian PC brigade and anti-Semitic fringe elements in Berkeley, Oakland, and San Francisco, but also the peace movements, radical anti-war activist circles, unions, dockworkers, farmworkers, and hotelworkers.
Their efforts have paid off, and they have friends among the top levels of San Francisco's city government.
Members of Code Pink and the Arab Resource Organizing Center were also there - the first an alleged peace group, the second generously funded by the Tides Center, "encouraged" by the National Lawyers Guild, and heavily involved in anti-Israel agitation at Bay Area universities.
"Israel out of the Middle-East"
---Charming slogan heard at the end of the rally.
Several voices then added "Israel out of the world".
Faculty members from SF State U and UC Berkeley were also present at the hate-fest, enthusiastically cheering the prospect of Israel's destruction.
An angry but accurate report of the event can be found here:
http://anarchozionist.blogspot.com/2010/07/counter-demo-post-mortem.html.
Another account of the event has been posted here: http://proisraelbaybloggers.blogspot.com/2010/07/international-answer-enables-jew-hating.html
As usual, do not leave demonstrations by yourself.
Dick Becker and Forrest Schmidt will not admit ANYresponsibility for riling the mob up, and the murderous rage that results is purely the responsibility of the Jew-haters and Palestinian activists themselves.
The only person who is guaranteed not to become violent is Rusty, whose life and beatific smile are a testament to the efficacy of certain substances and a carryover from the hippie area.
Terry, on the other hand, is quite certifiable.
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
PERVERTABLE ME
I am a degenerate. No, this has NOTHING to do with sex. It does, however, relate to my mouth. And what I do with it.
For Sunday dinner Savage Kitten made some scrumptious chops. They were juicy and intensely flavourful, done to perfection - that woman sure can cook. After dinner, while she was preoccupied, I went into the kitchen and stuck my face in the skillet, frantically trying to lick up all the panjuices before she would notice. Sluuuuurrrppp!
Had to wash my face at the kitchen sink afterwards, because I had gotten grease in my beard and moustache.
So yes, I had a very good Fourth of July.
Panjuices. Mmmmm.
Imagine a Homer Simpson sound here.
Yesterday I smoked several bowls of Erinmore Flake. Erinmore is a product I have previously described as a perfumed tease, a veritable harlot, a temptress drenched in cheap cologne. It is all that, and more. And I enjoyed it immensely.
What can I say? While I normally seek the company of classic mixtures – winsome blendings of Virginia, Turkish, and Latakia, modest and maidenly, charming yet restrained in their embraces – sometimes I like a mature mistress, more full bodied and vulgar than the well-bred little Oriental.
Smoking Erinmore Flake is like going down to a seedy cocktail dive and surrounding yourself with busty tarts.
Not only did I have a good Fourth, I also had a good fifth.
Today I have that tin of Erinmore Flake on my desk. Periodically I have been sticking my nose in it, and inhaling deeply of its sleazy charm. Mmmmmm, fruity. And just a hint of something incredibly vile, hidden under the naughty wink, the batted eye, the barely concealed fleshpot pillows. This temptress is moist with dime-store unguents, the lipstick and rouge are applied with a heavy hand. Frills of lace erupt from her shameless blouse, her stockings are the very pit of vulgar temptation, that skirt is far too short and tight for a woman of her age.
"Depraved fleshy trot desperately seeks randy beau. Appearance no object."
Aged Virginia, with tropic fruits.
White trash tobacco.
[ERINMORE FLAKE – sliced pressed flue-cured tobaccos with a top-dressing of pineapple and licorice. Nowadays manufactured in Denmark, but formerly the product of an company long since subsumed into British American Tobacco. This tin was purchased several years ago, but only opened recently.
It was made in Northern Ireland by Murray Sons & Company Limited, Belfast. This tin has aged very nicely, and it stinks to high heaven.]
The only thing missing is warm cooking grease from some divine chops.
I feel like I should rub myself all over with meat fat.
That would be the best of both worlds.
For Sunday dinner Savage Kitten made some scrumptious chops. They were juicy and intensely flavourful, done to perfection - that woman sure can cook. After dinner, while she was preoccupied, I went into the kitchen and stuck my face in the skillet, frantically trying to lick up all the panjuices before she would notice. Sluuuuurrrppp!
Had to wash my face at the kitchen sink afterwards, because I had gotten grease in my beard and moustache.
So yes, I had a very good Fourth of July.
Panjuices. Mmmmm.
Imagine a Homer Simpson sound here.
Yesterday I smoked several bowls of Erinmore Flake. Erinmore is a product I have previously described as a perfumed tease, a veritable harlot, a temptress drenched in cheap cologne. It is all that, and more. And I enjoyed it immensely.
What can I say? While I normally seek the company of classic mixtures – winsome blendings of Virginia, Turkish, and Latakia, modest and maidenly, charming yet restrained in their embraces – sometimes I like a mature mistress, more full bodied and vulgar than the well-bred little Oriental.
Smoking Erinmore Flake is like going down to a seedy cocktail dive and surrounding yourself with busty tarts.
Not only did I have a good Fourth, I also had a good fifth.
Today I have that tin of Erinmore Flake on my desk. Periodically I have been sticking my nose in it, and inhaling deeply of its sleazy charm. Mmmmmm, fruity. And just a hint of something incredibly vile, hidden under the naughty wink, the batted eye, the barely concealed fleshpot pillows. This temptress is moist with dime-store unguents, the lipstick and rouge are applied with a heavy hand. Frills of lace erupt from her shameless blouse, her stockings are the very pit of vulgar temptation, that skirt is far too short and tight for a woman of her age.
"Depraved fleshy trot desperately seeks randy beau. Appearance no object."
Aged Virginia, with tropic fruits.
White trash tobacco.
[ERINMORE FLAKE – sliced pressed flue-cured tobaccos with a top-dressing of pineapple and licorice. Nowadays manufactured in Denmark, but formerly the product of an company long since subsumed into British American Tobacco. This tin was purchased several years ago, but only opened recently.
It was made in Northern Ireland by Murray Sons & Company Limited, Belfast. This tin has aged very nicely, and it stinks to high heaven.]
The only thing missing is warm cooking grease from some divine chops.
I feel like I should rub myself all over with meat fat.
That would be the best of both worlds.
Friday, July 02, 2010
PARSCHAS PINCHAS
In which Pinchas slaughters and Israelite man and his Midianite girlfriend. Quite one of the most exciting scenes in the entire book.
Bamidbar (Numbers) 25:6 "Ve hine ish mibnei Yisrael ba vayakrev el echav et ha Midyanit, le einei Moshe u le einei kol adat bnei Yisrael, vehema vochim petach ohel moed" ('And look, one of the children of Israel brought to his brothers a Midianite woman, in the eyes of Moses and of all the congregation of the Bnei Israel, while they were weeping at the entrance of the tent of meeting'),
25:7 "va yar Pinchas Ben Elazar, ben Aharon ha kohen, vayakam, mitoch haeda, va yikach romach beyado" ('and when Pinchas the son of Eleazar, the son of Aaron the priest, saw it, he rose up from the congregation, and took a spear in his hand'),
25:8 "va yavo achar ish Yisrael el ha kuba, va yidkor et sheneihem, et ish Yisrael ve et ha isha el kovata…" ('and he went after the man of Israel into the chamber, and speared both of them, the man of Israel, the woman through her gut…').
I feel warm all over.
Pinchass was an honourable man (as were they all honourable men).
But according to Rashi, Pinchas was ambitious
I'm thinking movie.
Mel Gibson, Amy Winehouse, and Mark Wahlberg.
Bamidbar (Numbers) 25:6 "Ve hine ish mibnei Yisrael ba vayakrev el echav et ha Midyanit, le einei Moshe u le einei kol adat bnei Yisrael, vehema vochim petach ohel moed" ('And look, one of the children of Israel brought to his brothers a Midianite woman, in the eyes of Moses and of all the congregation of the Bnei Israel, while they were weeping at the entrance of the tent of meeting'),
25:7 "va yar Pinchas Ben Elazar, ben Aharon ha kohen, vayakam, mitoch haeda, va yikach romach beyado" ('and when Pinchas the son of Eleazar, the son of Aaron the priest, saw it, he rose up from the congregation, and took a spear in his hand'),
25:8 "va yavo achar ish Yisrael el ha kuba, va yidkor et sheneihem, et ish Yisrael ve et ha isha el kovata…" ('and he went after the man of Israel into the chamber, and speared both of them, the man of Israel, the woman through her gut…').
I feel warm all over.
Pinchass was an honourable man (as were they all honourable men).
But according to Rashi, Pinchas was ambitious
I'm thinking movie.
Mel Gibson, Amy Winehouse, and Mark Wahlberg.
PORTRAIT OF A NAKED SCHOOLGIRL ON A BED OF TOBACCO
Nearly a year ago, a post of mine entitled conversational storm-surge attracted the kind attentions of Japanese spambots. The result was well over a hundred comments (in Japanese) with clickable links to some very strange stuff. Mostly Japanese pornography websites.
I allowed most of the comments to remain, as this development fascinated me. Why should a description of the odd behaviour of our building security be the perfect place for smutty links?
Another post several weeks later also appealed to them. I have no idea why the Islamic emirate of Gaza merited pornospam. But, as I had reserved the comment section underneath conversational storm-surge for all lascivious linkage, I blocked those comments.
Spambot-Sensei still posts there, even now - he just isn't published.
One freebie is all you get.
In April of this year I posted a new click for anal tobacconists, which proved nearly as tempting for the porno brigade.
It must have been the word 'anal'. Some search program in Europe perked up its ears at the smell, and the rest is history.
Having 'anal' in the title of a blog post attracts more attention than 'penis', 'uvula', 'belly button', 'shoulders', 'rosy nipples', or 'cheese'.
Far more than cheese.
Again, dense comments in foreign languages were proffered, with embedded links.
My curiosity got the better of me, and ere deleting, I clicked.
Good heavens!
A very attractive young lady, entirely naked. With an accordion.
As a salespitch, it has a lot to recommend it. If all products or services were so advertised, life would be much more interesting. I've always wanted to learn how to play the accordion.
"What brand of butter should I buy? Why, the brand with the naked young lady, of course! Nothing says 'butter' quite so well as a naked blonde girl."
"Do I need a station wagon? I didn't, until I saw the sleek number with the nude redhead."
"This kitchen tissue is strong enough for TWO high school girls!"
"I've got to get this brand of soap; a statuesque black woman recommends it!"
Normally I don't pay any attention to advertisements, even if I need the product.
But if all the products I absolutely don't need were advertised by tasteful female nudes, I would finally turn into an all-American consumer whore.
Think about it, marketing people; naked means cash.
If anybody doubts this, just ask a lovely immodest teenager to recline on a bed of pipe tobacco (preferably an Oriental mixture - Virginias, Turkish, Latakia) in the nude.
I can guarantee you that I will buy whatever smoking mixture that is. All of it. The entire bale. That is one blend I've just got to have. It is the most alluring tobacco I have ever smelled.
Please place links to whatever product you are pushing underneath this post.
Especially if it contains Virginia, Turkish, and Latakia. Thank you.
I allowed most of the comments to remain, as this development fascinated me. Why should a description of the odd behaviour of our building security be the perfect place for smutty links?
Another post several weeks later also appealed to them. I have no idea why the Islamic emirate of Gaza merited pornospam. But, as I had reserved the comment section underneath conversational storm-surge for all lascivious linkage, I blocked those comments.
Spambot-Sensei still posts there, even now - he just isn't published.
One freebie is all you get.
In April of this year I posted a new click for anal tobacconists, which proved nearly as tempting for the porno brigade.
It must have been the word 'anal'. Some search program in Europe perked up its ears at the smell, and the rest is history.
Having 'anal' in the title of a blog post attracts more attention than 'penis', 'uvula', 'belly button', 'shoulders', 'rosy nipples', or 'cheese'.
Far more than cheese.
Again, dense comments in foreign languages were proffered, with embedded links.
My curiosity got the better of me, and ere deleting, I clicked.
Good heavens!
A very attractive young lady, entirely naked. With an accordion.
As a salespitch, it has a lot to recommend it. If all products or services were so advertised, life would be much more interesting. I've always wanted to learn how to play the accordion.
"What brand of butter should I buy? Why, the brand with the naked young lady, of course! Nothing says 'butter' quite so well as a naked blonde girl."
"Do I need a station wagon? I didn't, until I saw the sleek number with the nude redhead."
"This kitchen tissue is strong enough for TWO high school girls!"
"I've got to get this brand of soap; a statuesque black woman recommends it!"
Normally I don't pay any attention to advertisements, even if I need the product.
But if all the products I absolutely don't need were advertised by tasteful female nudes, I would finally turn into an all-American consumer whore.
Think about it, marketing people; naked means cash.
If anybody doubts this, just ask a lovely immodest teenager to recline on a bed of pipe tobacco (preferably an Oriental mixture - Virginias, Turkish, Latakia) in the nude.
I can guarantee you that I will buy whatever smoking mixture that is. All of it. The entire bale. That is one blend I've just got to have. It is the most alluring tobacco I have ever smelled.
Please place links to whatever product you are pushing underneath this post.
Especially if it contains Virginia, Turkish, and Latakia. Thank you.
Thursday, July 01, 2010
ENLIGHTENMENT
I can hear sirens, but they aren’t coming for me. Which is good, it means my awful secret has not been revealed.
In this day and age, they "subdue" folks like me – we are the people your mom warned you about.
CARNIVORES!
Once PETA stages its coup d'état, we will be hunted down and caged. They will know us by the shreds of bloody flesh dangling from our teeth. The sweet sweet reek of barbecue sauce. The hint of garlic and lime juice that still clings to our stained fingers.
And our firm handshakes.
We don’t eat tofu cooked by white people.
We are barbaric. We have bloodshot eyes and minds.
At an intersection nearby, there’s a very long line of people who wish to buy something vegetarian from a truck. Something with lentils and spices.
It is “yummy”, and good for your karma.
The customers, most of whom are white and in their twenties, look like they are approaching satori.
Bright, fresh faced, smiling. They are full of joy. And wheatgrass.
I despise them.
I had meat for lunch.
My shoes are leather. So is my belt. I like it that way.
I am a sinner. It is because of people like me that there’s that giant oil spill.
Think of the unhappy penguins!
When I go home, I rub myself with bear fat, and torture kittens.
Your children are right to fear me, I would give them peanuts and highly refined sugar. Make them play with wheat products. Eat cheese.
Test make-up on their pure innocent faces, and wrap them in synthetic fabrics.
Come here, little girl, would you like some battery chicken? Country music? Tobacco?
Oh good, the sirens are finally gone. They’ve arrested someone else.
In this day and age, they "subdue" folks like me – we are the people your mom warned you about.
CARNIVORES!
Once PETA stages its coup d'état, we will be hunted down and caged. They will know us by the shreds of bloody flesh dangling from our teeth. The sweet sweet reek of barbecue sauce. The hint of garlic and lime juice that still clings to our stained fingers.
And our firm handshakes.
We don’t eat tofu cooked by white people.
We are barbaric. We have bloodshot eyes and minds.
At an intersection nearby, there’s a very long line of people who wish to buy something vegetarian from a truck. Something with lentils and spices.
It is “yummy”, and good for your karma.
The customers, most of whom are white and in their twenties, look like they are approaching satori.
Bright, fresh faced, smiling. They are full of joy. And wheatgrass.
I despise them.
I had meat for lunch.
My shoes are leather. So is my belt. I like it that way.
I am a sinner. It is because of people like me that there’s that giant oil spill.
Think of the unhappy penguins!
When I go home, I rub myself with bear fat, and torture kittens.
Your children are right to fear me, I would give them peanuts and highly refined sugar. Make them play with wheat products. Eat cheese.
Test make-up on their pure innocent faces, and wrap them in synthetic fabrics.
Come here, little girl, would you like some battery chicken? Country music? Tobacco?
Oh good, the sirens are finally gone. They’ve arrested someone else.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
SELF CONFESSSED OBSESSED
A reader sent me an e-mail recently, saying “I saw your latest – do you HAVE to be such a pervert?!?”
Evidently yesterday’s post struck her as more than a little deviant.
I’ve thought about it. Seriously.
The answer to her question is ‘yes, Steffy, I really do’.
The reason is simple. Women are hot. I like their personalities too, precisely because they are women; if I wasn’t attracted to the fairer sex, they would just be people. There’s nothing special about that.
But women, that’s a different matter.
Fascinating creatures. I could sit in the bushes all day ogling them. Bugger the discomfort, the view is splendid!
It’s a question of aesthetics, but also of attractive character traits. Women act differently than men. Especially feisty women. There’s nothing quite so charming as a little spitfire telling some yutz her unvarnished opinion of him on the street. Feminine ire, well expressed, adds warmth and light to the world.
Truly, a women should be like a chilipepper, small and fiery.
So yes, Steffy, I will admit it. I am perverse.
I like hot spices, strong tobacco, Scotch whisky, herring, and fierce little females.
As long as none of those run out, I can be happy in this world.
Evidently yesterday’s post struck her as more than a little deviant.
I’ve thought about it. Seriously.
The answer to her question is ‘yes, Steffy, I really do’.
The reason is simple. Women are hot. I like their personalities too, precisely because they are women; if I wasn’t attracted to the fairer sex, they would just be people. There’s nothing special about that.
But women, that’s a different matter.
Fascinating creatures. I could sit in the bushes all day ogling them. Bugger the discomfort, the view is splendid!
It’s a question of aesthetics, but also of attractive character traits. Women act differently than men. Especially feisty women. There’s nothing quite so charming as a little spitfire telling some yutz her unvarnished opinion of him on the street. Feminine ire, well expressed, adds warmth and light to the world.
Truly, a women should be like a chilipepper, small and fiery.
So yes, Steffy, I will admit it. I am perverse.
I like hot spices, strong tobacco, Scotch whisky, herring, and fierce little females.
As long as none of those run out, I can be happy in this world.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
CARE FOR A DRINK, MISS?
You’ve probably already figured this out – I am an immense sexist.
I like women who do not drink alcohol. At least not on a habitual basis in bars.
By this I do not mean necessarily women who cannot drink – teenagers are sooooo cute when they first realize it makes them redfaced and woozy (PERVERT ALERT!) – but I prefer women who maintain frequent sobriety, and socialize outside of the dank and seedy drinking holes so beloved by me and my ilk.
Bars are a halfway house between work and home. Do not distract me with your feminine intoxication – your femininity can be quite intoxicating enough without the lure of rum.
I bring this up for two reasons:
1. Several coworkers mentioned their favourite alcoholic beverages during lunch – vodka, red wine, white wine, champagne, Midori sour, beer. Only the last one was masculine.
2. Things I remember doing when inebriated.
You do not need any details of the second one, so I shall not mention an obscene proposition to the mother of a drinking buddy back when I was fifteen, or spoiling all chances of a date with a bargirl by barfing into the cookie tin when I was seventeen. The drinking age in Holland is lower than here, in case you didn’t know.
The point is, I know what I was like when drunk in my younger years.
So I quake at the thought of some lady as blotto and as foolish.
If three martinis could make me pass out in the bathroom of a hamburger joint, what would they do to someone who only weighs ninety pounds?
The double gin and tonics that made one night surreal more than twenty years ago? They were strong enough to knock a small person right off her feet. I think they emptied the bottle into my glass that evening, it was a miracle that I got home in one piece. Not at all likely that a nice girl could have managed that.
Celebrating the national flags of Europe with layered drinks? By the time we got to Sweden (blue Curaçao float on top of sweet lemon-licorice liquer, no garnish), I could neither see straight nor sit straight – and I have no recollection of the next two days.
Seriously, I worry about women swilling bottles of champagne at a bar.
It just doesn’t look ladylike once you slide to the floor, and there are some real swine out there.
SECOND PERVERT ALERT!
It is far better that nice young ladies get plotzed in private than in public. You cannot trust the male (or lesbian) stranger not to take advantage of you – unfamiliar people get the most depraved ideas!
At least you know who I am.
When you slump, you'll be in good hands.
If you insist on indulging in strong drink instead of getting zipped to the eyebrows on caffeine, I will be glad to mix you up a cocktail or two. Or three. Or four.
Just let me know.
No, you cannot trust me. Your parents were right about that. But I have whiskey.
I like women who do not drink alcohol. At least not on a habitual basis in bars.
By this I do not mean necessarily women who cannot drink – teenagers are sooooo cute when they first realize it makes them redfaced and woozy (PERVERT ALERT!) – but I prefer women who maintain frequent sobriety, and socialize outside of the dank and seedy drinking holes so beloved by me and my ilk.
Bars are a halfway house between work and home. Do not distract me with your feminine intoxication – your femininity can be quite intoxicating enough without the lure of rum.
I bring this up for two reasons:
1. Several coworkers mentioned their favourite alcoholic beverages during lunch – vodka, red wine, white wine, champagne, Midori sour, beer. Only the last one was masculine.
2. Things I remember doing when inebriated.
You do not need any details of the second one, so I shall not mention an obscene proposition to the mother of a drinking buddy back when I was fifteen, or spoiling all chances of a date with a bargirl by barfing into the cookie tin when I was seventeen. The drinking age in Holland is lower than here, in case you didn’t know.
The point is, I know what I was like when drunk in my younger years.
So I quake at the thought of some lady as blotto and as foolish.
If three martinis could make me pass out in the bathroom of a hamburger joint, what would they do to someone who only weighs ninety pounds?
The double gin and tonics that made one night surreal more than twenty years ago? They were strong enough to knock a small person right off her feet. I think they emptied the bottle into my glass that evening, it was a miracle that I got home in one piece. Not at all likely that a nice girl could have managed that.
Celebrating the national flags of Europe with layered drinks? By the time we got to Sweden (blue Curaçao float on top of sweet lemon-licorice liquer, no garnish), I could neither see straight nor sit straight – and I have no recollection of the next two days.
Seriously, I worry about women swilling bottles of champagne at a bar.
It just doesn’t look ladylike once you slide to the floor, and there are some real swine out there.
SECOND PERVERT ALERT!
It is far better that nice young ladies get plotzed in private than in public. You cannot trust the male (or lesbian) stranger not to take advantage of you – unfamiliar people get the most depraved ideas!
At least you know who I am.
When you slump, you'll be in good hands.
If you insist on indulging in strong drink instead of getting zipped to the eyebrows on caffeine, I will be glad to mix you up a cocktail or two. Or three. Or four.
Just let me know.
No, you cannot trust me. Your parents were right about that. But I have whiskey.
Monday, June 28, 2010
RACCOONS LIKE ICE CREAM
Consider this a youtube Monday - sort of a takeoff of e-kvetcher's Music Monday.
There is no music here. Just raccoons.
This first one shows a raccoon eating kitty treats:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hIjoBwmpx_0&feature=related
Raccoons also like light:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LflOrzfXcqs&feature=related
And here are a whole bunch of raccoons who just want some ice cream:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g3Tuhamsmis&feature=related
One has to sympathize.
It is very human of them to want ice cream, I too want ice cream.
I would share my ice cream with them (if there were any raccoons around right now), if only they would agree to eat it like civilized people - with a spoon.
It just tastes better with a spoon.
At this point I am fairly certain that an entire colony of raccoons occupy the abandoned church a block away. The place is boarded up and there's a warning to stay off the premises. There used to be street people sleeping on the steps, and people would leave small food items there.
The street people are gone, but the small food items still get left.
That has to mean that raccoons have taken over.
No, they didn't eat the street people.
Raccoons in the Bay Area are adept at undoing latches, locks, and loose planking, and they are not particularly shy around humans. This is a tolerant part of the world.
They assume that if they don't bother us, we won't get scared or start panicking and screaming.
Eventually they will find a use for us - they're certain of it.
And maybe we'll stop insisting on spoons.
LAGNIAPPE
Here's a raccoon with a sharp eye for 'recycling' opportunities:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y3J8vYL_Vro&feature=related
Betcha his pad is very comfy. He probably also has some furniture he "borrowed" from somewhere, and an icebox (or hot plate).
Plus some spoons.
There is no music here. Just raccoons.
This first one shows a raccoon eating kitty treats:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hIjoBwmpx_0&feature=related
Raccoons also like light:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LflOrzfXcqs&feature=related
And here are a whole bunch of raccoons who just want some ice cream:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g3Tuhamsmis&feature=related
One has to sympathize.
It is very human of them to want ice cream, I too want ice cream.
I would share my ice cream with them (if there were any raccoons around right now), if only they would agree to eat it like civilized people - with a spoon.
It just tastes better with a spoon.
At this point I am fairly certain that an entire colony of raccoons occupy the abandoned church a block away. The place is boarded up and there's a warning to stay off the premises. There used to be street people sleeping on the steps, and people would leave small food items there.
The street people are gone, but the small food items still get left.
That has to mean that raccoons have taken over.
No, they didn't eat the street people.
Raccoons in the Bay Area are adept at undoing latches, locks, and loose planking, and they are not particularly shy around humans. This is a tolerant part of the world.
They assume that if they don't bother us, we won't get scared or start panicking and screaming.
Eventually they will find a use for us - they're certain of it.
And maybe we'll stop insisting on spoons.
LAGNIAPPE
Here's a raccoon with a sharp eye for 'recycling' opportunities:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y3J8vYL_Vro&feature=related
Betcha his pad is very comfy. He probably also has some furniture he "borrowed" from somewhere, and an icebox (or hot plate).
Plus some spoons.
Friday, June 25, 2010
OUR BLACK FRIENDS
In the middle of the city one is not far from nature. Not only the rabid drunks on Polk Street, but also the raccoons and feral cats on Nob Hill. Plus other creatures that have acclimatized to the human environment; rodents, possii, birds of prey, the occasional urban coyote, small greasy things with round eyes, and parrots.
This morning there were several noisy crows outside the livingroom window. In the half-dark of a foggy dawn they called to each other from the trees behind the houses and from the eaves of neighboring buildings.
I've always found the presence of numerous crows remarkable; I had not seen so many till I returned to California years ago - crows are not very common in densely packed Netherlandish towns.
Once, as the car turned into the parking lot of our office in Palo Alto, an eagle clutching a dead rabbit swooped low over the asphalt, pursued by a tribe of angry crows who wanted his breakfast. Their parking lot, their nesting grounds, ergo their dead rabbit. Now hand it over, thief!
Several years ago I remember two crows coming upon pigeons worrying a still-sealed bag of cookies at the bus stop in front of our building.
Calmly they landed, strolled over to the frantic smaller birds, and shooed them away. They had the tools to open the bag, they were big, dark, and dignified - it just stood to reason that they would dine first. Though vastly outnumbered they were confident that the others would see it their way.
They were right.
Ten minutes later the pigeons were permitted to squabble over the crumbs, as two visibly fatter black presences lumbered into the air, to perch replete on a nearby window sill.
About a year ago a crow landed a few yards ahead of me, giddy at having spotted both a nice piece of pizza and some fresh furry roadkill. Once it was clear to the bird that I wasn't interested in these delicacies, it had to decide which to "play with" first. It frantically hurried back and forth between them, perhaps worried that some other creature might lay a claim. Then it cut the Gordian knot by simply picking up the roadkill, carrying it over, and carefully placing it on top of the pizza.
When I got to my front door I looked back, and saw that a companion had arrived. They ate together like old friends, stepping around the banquet for a better pecking angle without getting in each other's way or blocking access to the feast.
They vocalized while they ate. A sort of low contented gurgling. It may have been small talk.
That evening I forewent supper - I envied those two their cozy picnic.
This morning there were several noisy crows outside the livingroom window. In the half-dark of a foggy dawn they called to each other from the trees behind the houses and from the eaves of neighboring buildings.
I've always found the presence of numerous crows remarkable; I had not seen so many till I returned to California years ago - crows are not very common in densely packed Netherlandish towns.
Once, as the car turned into the parking lot of our office in Palo Alto, an eagle clutching a dead rabbit swooped low over the asphalt, pursued by a tribe of angry crows who wanted his breakfast. Their parking lot, their nesting grounds, ergo their dead rabbit. Now hand it over, thief!
Several years ago I remember two crows coming upon pigeons worrying a still-sealed bag of cookies at the bus stop in front of our building.
Calmly they landed, strolled over to the frantic smaller birds, and shooed them away. They had the tools to open the bag, they were big, dark, and dignified - it just stood to reason that they would dine first. Though vastly outnumbered they were confident that the others would see it their way.
They were right.
Ten minutes later the pigeons were permitted to squabble over the crumbs, as two visibly fatter black presences lumbered into the air, to perch replete on a nearby window sill.
About a year ago a crow landed a few yards ahead of me, giddy at having spotted both a nice piece of pizza and some fresh furry roadkill. Once it was clear to the bird that I wasn't interested in these delicacies, it had to decide which to "play with" first. It frantically hurried back and forth between them, perhaps worried that some other creature might lay a claim. Then it cut the Gordian knot by simply picking up the roadkill, carrying it over, and carefully placing it on top of the pizza.
When I got to my front door I looked back, and saw that a companion had arrived. They ate together like old friends, stepping around the banquet for a better pecking angle without getting in each other's way or blocking access to the feast.
They vocalized while they ate. A sort of low contented gurgling. It may have been small talk.
That evening I forewent supper - I envied those two their cozy picnic.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
PUSHY GALORE
One of my correspondents asked me recently how I ended up connecting with some of the people on my blogroll and on Facebook. The glib answer, of course, was that they were attracted by my immense personal magnetism.
It is really something else, though.
ASPBERGER SYNDROME
I am not a very social person, nor particularly socially adept. And while I am relatively comfortable in the presence of other people, I don’t consider myself good at conversations that include more than one other person.
In actual fact, many of my conversations are near-monologues, and my significant other sometimes tells me “shut up or I’m clobbering you!”.
Most of my friends probably wish to say the same.
Many of my best interactions are on the internet, and via the superficial semi-anonymity of meaningless small talk in bars and coffee shops.
Either that, or placing collection calls all across the country, and jollying my customers into paying those invoices or they may not receive new product in time for Father’s Day/the season/Halloween/Chanuka/Chinese New Year.
Demanding money is an excellent conversational gambit, and the resulting exchange is naturally self-limiting. Perfect.
I skulk, I stalk, and I glower. At rallies or parties I head toward the edge of the crowd.
And yes, I am very comfortable doing so.
One on one. No other people.
It’s not that I don’t like you. I actually think you’re a splendid person.
And I am very tolerant of others, really.
It’s just that I if I have to talk, it helps if I do all the talking.
Even though I don’t know what to say.
So the answer to the question is that if someone has an interesting internet presence, and through their blog, commentary, or peccadilloes displays intelligence and interesting quirks, I will be immensely attracted to them, even if we have not met. And if their writing displays both wit and knowledge, so much the better.
Sparkling minds are wonderful to know.
It is really something else, though.
ASPBERGER SYNDROME
I am not a very social person, nor particularly socially adept. And while I am relatively comfortable in the presence of other people, I don’t consider myself good at conversations that include more than one other person.
In actual fact, many of my conversations are near-monologues, and my significant other sometimes tells me “shut up or I’m clobbering you!”.
Most of my friends probably wish to say the same.
Many of my best interactions are on the internet, and via the superficial semi-anonymity of meaningless small talk in bars and coffee shops.
Either that, or placing collection calls all across the country, and jollying my customers into paying those invoices or they may not receive new product in time for Father’s Day/the season/Halloween/Chanuka/Chinese New Year.
Demanding money is an excellent conversational gambit, and the resulting exchange is naturally self-limiting. Perfect.
I skulk, I stalk, and I glower. At rallies or parties I head toward the edge of the crowd.
And yes, I am very comfortable doing so.
One on one. No other people.
It’s not that I don’t like you. I actually think you’re a splendid person.
And I am very tolerant of others, really.
It’s just that I if I have to talk, it helps if I do all the talking.
Even though I don’t know what to say.
So the answer to the question is that if someone has an interesting internet presence, and through their blog, commentary, or peccadilloes displays intelligence and interesting quirks, I will be immensely attracted to them, even if we have not met. And if their writing displays both wit and knowledge, so much the better.
Sparkling minds are wonderful to know.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
SHENANIGANNERY
Several months ago I sent some rules for blogging to various people. Ideas about how to write, and how to make sure that what you write is worth reading. Not so much about grammar or subject.
Just one stylistic note: avoid using the same words too close together in a paragraph unless you wish to make a comparison.
Under the subheading “LOOK STUFF UP”, I wrote:
Para ONE: When you see embedded links in Wikipedia, ALWAYS click on them; read that article and click on its links, then go back to the first and continue reading.
Para TWO: If you read a sentence that seems difficult and clumsy, rephrase what it says for yourself.
Para THREE: Assertions beg to be questioned - always.
Para FOUR: If something is said, find out the source. Where did that statement come from, on what basis was it said.
[Notes to 4: "Rabbi Elazar said, in the name of Rabbi Chanina: "He who says something in the name of the one who said it brings redemption to the world, as it is written: "and Esther said to the king, in the name of Mordechai" (Megillas Esther 2:22: 'vatomer Ester la-melekh beshem Mardokhai')."]
Para FIVE: If you are going to say something, be prepared to defend it.
Para SIX: Only idiots make unfounded assertions.
Para SEVEN: It is better to make a few points well, than many badly.
Etc.
One of the addressees was Steffy Chou, who blogs here: http://infectiousasian.blogspot.com/
She took the instruction to heart, and today applied it to a post by The Bray of Fundie, aka Hamavdil.
She didn't have particularly much to say about what he wrote, but instead researched a number of Yeshivishe locutions that he used.
Here is how she explained one word: "Bren = Fire. A burning. What Ada and Van felt in a book by Nabokov. Here it is connected to Bais Yakov girls, and totally clean."
AAAAAURGH!
Nice little fourteen year old girls are NOT supposed to know about that! It was bad enough that she read Lolita - that must have been a traumatic experience.
[Last year she reviewed the book, in five parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5, plus a prolegomena.]
Since then I have detected traces of Nabokovian phrasing in her blogposts. In some ways that is disturbing, but it also provides an absolutely delicious frisson; reading the little minx is a 'not-quite-guilty' pleasure.
But if she also read Ada, then she is in way over her head!
QUOTE:
"Ada tells the life story of Van Veen, and his lifelong love affair with his sister Ada. They meet when she is eleven (soon to be twelve) and he is fourteen, believing that they are cousins (more precisely: that their fathers are cousins and that their mothers are sisters), and begin a sexual affair. They later discover that Van's father is also Ada's and her mother is also his. "
Stuff like that is far too depraved for a fourteen year old.
Farewell to innocence, it isn't even suitable for an adult!
I think I was twelve when I read it.
That alone should warn people.
----------------------------------------------------------
AFTERWORD
Lolita and Ada were for many years my favourites among Nabokov's oeuvre. Since weaning myself away from perversions, I have preferred his memoir (Speak, Memory), which is considerably cleaner.
The nictitating grasses he saw in Chapter 7 still wink as much at him as they do at my mind's eye, however the lepidopterism that permeates much of his personal life from his youth onward is not my affliction.
Still, Nabokov is not suitable for a teenager!
Just one stylistic note: avoid using the same words too close together in a paragraph unless you wish to make a comparison.
Under the subheading “LOOK STUFF UP”, I wrote:
Para ONE: When you see embedded links in Wikipedia, ALWAYS click on them; read that article and click on its links, then go back to the first and continue reading.
Para TWO: If you read a sentence that seems difficult and clumsy, rephrase what it says for yourself.
Para THREE: Assertions beg to be questioned - always.
Para FOUR: If something is said, find out the source. Where did that statement come from, on what basis was it said.
[Notes to 4: "Rabbi Elazar said, in the name of Rabbi Chanina: "He who says something in the name of the one who said it brings redemption to the world, as it is written: "and Esther said to the king, in the name of Mordechai" (Megillas Esther 2:22: 'vatomer Ester la-melekh beshem Mardokhai')."]
Para FIVE: If you are going to say something, be prepared to defend it.
Para SIX: Only idiots make unfounded assertions.
Para SEVEN: It is better to make a few points well, than many badly.
Etc.
One of the addressees was Steffy Chou, who blogs here: http://infectiousasian.blogspot.com/
She took the instruction to heart, and today applied it to a post by The Bray of Fundie, aka Hamavdil.
She didn't have particularly much to say about what he wrote, but instead researched a number of Yeshivishe locutions that he used.
Here is how she explained one word: "Bren = Fire. A burning. What Ada and Van felt in a book by Nabokov. Here it is connected to Bais Yakov girls, and totally clean."
AAAAAURGH!
Nice little fourteen year old girls are NOT supposed to know about that! It was bad enough that she read Lolita - that must have been a traumatic experience.
[Last year she reviewed the book, in five parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5, plus a prolegomena.]
Since then I have detected traces of Nabokovian phrasing in her blogposts. In some ways that is disturbing, but it also provides an absolutely delicious frisson; reading the little minx is a 'not-quite-guilty' pleasure.
But if she also read Ada, then she is in way over her head!
QUOTE:
"Ada tells the life story of Van Veen, and his lifelong love affair with his sister Ada. They meet when she is eleven (soon to be twelve) and he is fourteen, believing that they are cousins (more precisely: that their fathers are cousins and that their mothers are sisters), and begin a sexual affair. They later discover that Van's father is also Ada's and her mother is also his. "
Stuff like that is far too depraved for a fourteen year old.
Farewell to innocence, it isn't even suitable for an adult!
I think I was twelve when I read it.
That alone should warn people.
----------------------------------------------------------
AFTERWORD
Lolita and Ada were for many years my favourites among Nabokov's oeuvre. Since weaning myself away from perversions, I have preferred his memoir (Speak, Memory), which is considerably cleaner.
The nictitating grasses he saw in Chapter 7 still wink as much at him as they do at my mind's eye, however the lepidopterism that permeates much of his personal life from his youth onward is not my affliction.
Still, Nabokov is not suitable for a teenager!
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
EAT YOUR ETHICS
Fellow blogger Hamavdil (The Bray of Fundie) wrote:
"I know that I am the boy who cried wolf as I have called for your attention saying "hey come look at me" more times than you'd care to count but TODAY I REALLY mean it.
Please be so kind as to read, comment on, cross-post, spread by email today's post on my blog.
http://innate-differences.blogspot.com/2010/06/holy-rimanover-dinover-otd-crisis-and.html
I really feel as though I've "scooped" something here and that the news needs to be spread. "
[End quote]
IN SHORT
Chaim posits a rather interesting concept - good habits and actions done because one recognizes that they are good (and thus actually merit doing), not because anybody else recognizes that one does them - but he also suggests that diet (and not just food-diet) contributes strongly to doing good/being good/thinking good.
Ignore, for the time being, that precisely that would exclude things much loved by many Gentiles - Jews think of those foods differently, and consequently if they actually desire them, do so in conflict with their "nature" (or their nurture, if you don’t hold by certain concepts).
Hamavdil also writes:
" ... this is not an appeal for promoting the Hekhsher Tzedek but a call to parents of school age children in particular to improve their business ethics for to what avail is a steak purchased from an "Ethical" meat-packer if the dollars used to purchase it were obtained through a Ponzi Scheme?"
[End quote]
Read here and discuss, zeit azoy git.
As usual, if you need a quick and dirty explanation of Yeshivish vocabulary items, feel free to ask.
Please note that this blogger himself does not connect treif (strictly in the food-related meaning of the term) with shlechte middos.
Though, if you hold by kashrus (and knowingly eat nishtkashrusdikke substantsiyen), it very well might be.
"I know that I am the boy who cried wolf as I have called for your attention saying "hey come look at me" more times than you'd care to count but TODAY I REALLY mean it.
Please be so kind as to read, comment on, cross-post, spread by email today's post on my blog.
http://innate-differences.blogspot.com/2010/06/holy-rimanover-dinover-otd-crisis-and.html
I really feel as though I've "scooped" something here and that the news needs to be spread. "
[End quote]
IN SHORT
Chaim posits a rather interesting concept - good habits and actions done because one recognizes that they are good (and thus actually merit doing), not because anybody else recognizes that one does them - but he also suggests that diet (and not just food-diet) contributes strongly to doing good/being good/thinking good.
Ignore, for the time being, that precisely that would exclude things much loved by many Gentiles - Jews think of those foods differently, and consequently if they actually desire them, do so in conflict with their "nature" (or their nurture, if you don’t hold by certain concepts).
Hamavdil also writes:
" ... this is not an appeal for promoting the Hekhsher Tzedek but a call to parents of school age children in particular to improve their business ethics for to what avail is a steak purchased from an "Ethical" meat-packer if the dollars used to purchase it were obtained through a Ponzi Scheme?"
[End quote]
Read here and discuss, zeit azoy git.
As usual, if you need a quick and dirty explanation of Yeshivish vocabulary items, feel free to ask.
Please note that this blogger himself does not connect treif (strictly in the food-related meaning of the term) with shlechte middos.
Though, if you hold by kashrus (and knowingly eat nishtkashrusdikke substantsiyen), it very well might be.
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