Probably the best piece about Comey and Trump since Thursday was a brief item on Gin and Tacos. And, as you would expect in these somewhat surreal times, it was believable.
"I CANNOT COMMENT ON WHETHER THE PRESIDENT ATE A CHILD" SAYS THE AIDE, HIS TREMBLING VOICE BARELY AUDIBLE OVER THE PRESIDENT NOISILY EATING A CHILD IMMEDIATELY NEXT TO HIM. THE AIDE REPEATS "ANY FURTHER QUESTIONS?" AN AWKWARD NUMBER OF TIMES IN AN ULTIMATELY FUTILE ATTEMPT TO DROWN OUT THE PRESIDENT'S EXAGGERATED AND UNNECESSARY "OM NOM NOM" SOUNDS AND THE CRACKING OF LOAD-BEARING BONES FOLLOWED BY MOANS OF "MMM, CHILD MARROW."
NO ONE DARES ASK WHY THE ACT OF THE 45th PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES SUCKING THE MARROW OUT OF A CHILD'S FEMUR PRODUCES A LOUD SLIDE WHISTLE SOUND. SENATE REPUBLICANS PRONOUNCE THE HEARING "SUCCESSFUL" AND "ODDLY AROUSING."
There are two questions:
1) Why is Sean Spicer in this scenario holding a press-conference in the presence of a ravenous president?
2) Why aren't the Senate Republicans touching their plates?
I for one find it perfectly reasonable that the President of the United States would act in this manner, and given what our Republicans have been doing since January, so would they.
There's probably ketchup in the room.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Sunday, June 11, 2017
Saturday, June 10, 2017
LIFE AMONG THE DINGOES
An ocassional reader e-mailed that rather than sneering at the British Conservative Party as "a bunch of bitter whinging wreckers who hate everybody", I should have instead lamented that they did not decisively win. Because, as he offered, "that perfectly describes you and most of your blog posts these past two years".
Me, a bitter whinging wrecker who hates everybody?
Not so! I am the sunniest of people! Truly!
Sneering is a celebration of life.
There are in fact an overwhelming number of people and things I love.
A short list: chicken curry, milk tea, intelligent waitresses at bakeries and chachantengs, kittens, rats, elderly dogs, Hillary Clinton (she still pisses you lot off!), Dianne Feinstein, comedian and wise political commentator John Oliver, bad movies, Oolong, Suisin, Virginia pipe tobacco and Virginia - Perique mixtures, Latakia, stuffed animals, my apartment mate and her eccentric view of the world, Cantonese swear words, a nice bit of cheese, sambal, and that fellow who was refused entry to the number 70 by the bus driver because his luggage was too large.
He so very much wanted to have breakfast in Mill Valley!
It really sounded like he had been away from the heart of civilization (that being Northern California, precisely and approximately) for far too long, and that he was keen to rediscover stuff he fondly remembered from years ago.
He was utterly disappointed.
And breakfast in Mill Valley does sound splendid, provided it contains meaty products and gluten, and is served in the afternoon. With copious amounts of strong tea. Basically a proper British fry-up leavened by profound Mexican and Southwestern culinary influences, followed by a bowl of Samuel Gawith's Best Brown Flake, eaten indoors while a soft rain falls outside and the tourists huddle disconsolately in doorways.
Far from the bums and the crowd.
Splendid!
Unfortunately none of my friends live in Mill Valley. The task of bringing civilization to Outer Bunfudgistan is too much. They aren't masochists.
I hope he came up with an alternate plan. There are many places on Lombard where breakfasty stuffs may be enjoyed, and the Dim Sum Club is not too far a walk. Almost anywhere in San Francisco has hot sauce, even the tourist restaurants, and hashbrowns taste good with either Tabasco or Crystal. Frank's too, but Tapatio not so much.
A good strong cup of coffee with the meal, and a nice pipe after, and you'll be right as rain.
Did I mention Teddy Bears? They also add to joy to one's existence. Along with bitter melon, fish sauce, egg plant, Greg Pease's Regency Flake, and Scandinavian Tobacco's many fine Oriental blends. Soft comfy throwrugs, a warm cuppa, naughty business, antique post cards, and a stuffed penguin wearing a kippah overlooking the bed.
Other things that please me: little girls happily walking with their mommies, tiny fragrant flowers on bushes by the roadside, the smell of wild anise, parrots flocking in Sue Bierman Park, two-tone briar finishes.
Comoy did the two-tone finish better than anyone.
It really brings out the translucence.
I am a bright cheerful man.
Positively.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Me, a bitter whinging wrecker who hates everybody?
Not so! I am the sunniest of people! Truly!
Sneering is a celebration of life.
There are in fact an overwhelming number of people and things I love.
A short list: chicken curry, milk tea, intelligent waitresses at bakeries and chachantengs, kittens, rats, elderly dogs, Hillary Clinton (she still pisses you lot off!), Dianne Feinstein, comedian and wise political commentator John Oliver, bad movies, Oolong, Suisin, Virginia pipe tobacco and Virginia - Perique mixtures, Latakia, stuffed animals, my apartment mate and her eccentric view of the world, Cantonese swear words, a nice bit of cheese, sambal, and that fellow who was refused entry to the number 70 by the bus driver because his luggage was too large.
He so very much wanted to have breakfast in Mill Valley!
It really sounded like he had been away from the heart of civilization (that being Northern California, precisely and approximately) for far too long, and that he was keen to rediscover stuff he fondly remembered from years ago.
He was utterly disappointed.
And breakfast in Mill Valley does sound splendid, provided it contains meaty products and gluten, and is served in the afternoon. With copious amounts of strong tea. Basically a proper British fry-up leavened by profound Mexican and Southwestern culinary influences, followed by a bowl of Samuel Gawith's Best Brown Flake, eaten indoors while a soft rain falls outside and the tourists huddle disconsolately in doorways.
Far from the bums and the crowd.
Splendid!
Unfortunately none of my friends live in Mill Valley. The task of bringing civilization to Outer Bunfudgistan is too much. They aren't masochists.
I hope he came up with an alternate plan. There are many places on Lombard where breakfasty stuffs may be enjoyed, and the Dim Sum Club is not too far a walk. Almost anywhere in San Francisco has hot sauce, even the tourist restaurants, and hashbrowns taste good with either Tabasco or Crystal. Frank's too, but Tapatio not so much.
A good strong cup of coffee with the meal, and a nice pipe after, and you'll be right as rain.
Did I mention Teddy Bears? They also add to joy to one's existence. Along with bitter melon, fish sauce, egg plant, Greg Pease's Regency Flake, and Scandinavian Tobacco's many fine Oriental blends. Soft comfy throwrugs, a warm cuppa, naughty business, antique post cards, and a stuffed penguin wearing a kippah overlooking the bed.
Other things that please me: little girls happily walking with their mommies, tiny fragrant flowers on bushes by the roadside, the smell of wild anise, parrots flocking in Sue Bierman Park, two-tone briar finishes.
Comoy did the two-tone finish better than anyone.
It really brings out the translucence.
I am a bright cheerful man.
Positively.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Friday, June 09, 2017
THEY'VE GONE DAFT
In what should come as a surprise to no one, the party with the most hosetards won big in London, whereas the splitters carried the countryside.
And, remarkably, the Shankhill Road mafia (DUP) gets a decisive voice.
Once again we Americans are not the stupidest voters in the English-speaking world.
The glorious bright spot is that George Galloway got his donkey handed to him on a platter in Manchester Gorton, where, as was to be expected, smarty-pants legal-wallah mr. Afzal Khan carried.
Galloway thinking he was fit to represent anything in Manchester was of course sheer political opportunism. Can we now please look forward to that tosser fading into obscurity?
One can only hope so.
Unfortunately Afzal Khan represents Labour, which is basically Hamas in white-face. So the election was altogether a disaster, as they now still represent most urban areas, whereas the Conservatives - a bunch of bitter whinging wreckers who hate everybody -- pulled the rural chav vote out of their pale wrinkled behinds and have remained the biggest party.
So there you have it. Much of Britain voted for Spam Vindaloo, the country side is still doing bangers and mash (and frying-up last night's chicken tika leftovers, probably with drippings), a few barmy prats in the outlying regions are going with neeps, tatties, and sliced haggis from the last Bobby Burns night, Ulster is torn between the usual rancid grease fry-ups, and in Wales there was apathetic support for leeks with a side of soggy oatmeal.
They are more barmy than we are; they've proven it.
Basically trailertrash with accents.
A bunch of muppets.
The only tea worth drinking is still Yorkshire Tea, though.
So some things are mercifully constant.
Twinings is crap.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
And, remarkably, the Shankhill Road mafia (DUP) gets a decisive voice.
Once again we Americans are not the stupidest voters in the English-speaking world.
The glorious bright spot is that George Galloway got his donkey handed to him on a platter in Manchester Gorton, where, as was to be expected, smarty-pants legal-wallah mr. Afzal Khan carried.
Galloway thinking he was fit to represent anything in Manchester was of course sheer political opportunism. Can we now please look forward to that tosser fading into obscurity?
One can only hope so.
Unfortunately Afzal Khan represents Labour, which is basically Hamas in white-face. So the election was altogether a disaster, as they now still represent most urban areas, whereas the Conservatives - a bunch of bitter whinging wreckers who hate everybody -- pulled the rural chav vote out of their pale wrinkled behinds and have remained the biggest party.
So there you have it. Much of Britain voted for Spam Vindaloo, the country side is still doing bangers and mash (and frying-up last night's chicken tika leftovers, probably with drippings), a few barmy prats in the outlying regions are going with neeps, tatties, and sliced haggis from the last Bobby Burns night, Ulster is torn between the usual rancid grease fry-ups, and in Wales there was apathetic support for leeks with a side of soggy oatmeal.
They are more barmy than we are; they've proven it.
Basically trailertrash with accents.
A bunch of muppets.
The only tea worth drinking is still Yorkshire Tea, though.
So some things are mercifully constant.
Twinings is crap.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Thursday, June 08, 2017
ALCOHOLIC MISBEHAVIOUR
Underneath her calm, almost placid, Cantonese good girl exterior, there's a beast. A wild animal. A teenager who has never grown up.
After reacting aghast to rich bitches on television drinking champagne in the back of a limousine -- "do wealthy people REALLY swill alcohol that EARLY in the day?!" -- she thought for a moment, then said: "when I get rich, I'm gonna have a rootbeer float and a big-ass sloppy chili dog, in the back of a Rolls".
This is a good thing. Although I will confess that I am myself not really familiar with "big-ass sloppy chili dog', seeing as I never fully adapted to American fatty snacks when I returned to the States as a young adult.
It sounds deliciously depraved, yet innocent.
"When I get rich, I'm gonna have a rootbeer float and a big-ass sloppy chili dog ... "
My idea of suitable junkfood for the back of a Rolls consists of a Dutch-style unidentified fried object, with mustard and sambal.
And a small side of fries with peanut-sauce.
As for the drink, I am not at all decided.
Sodas with or without ice-cream aren't a thing in my world, and Dutch people didn't drink at the junkfood emporium when I was younger.
Though they may have been drunk by the time they got there.
I thoroughly appreciate an apartment mate who never touches liquor, and does not hang around with booze-hounds.
I myself disapprove somewhat of intoxicants before dinner time. In which concept (dinner time) we can also include the cocktail hour, assuming that there is a spot of cheese. The pre-dinner glass of wine may overlap the during-dinner glasses of wine, or, if it is a festive social occasion one has been pressured to attend, some modest Scotch and water.
Abstemiousness, but in moderation.
I do indeed drink at times.
Not during the day.
Champagne in the back of a limo seems so decadent and weak-willed, especially during normal hours and when there is no reason for bubbly.
Self-indulgent, and rather trashy.
Vulgar.
Okay, as regards drinking I am a puritan. Not when it comes to tobacco or food, or nice long baths, good heavens no, but definitely booze.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
After reacting aghast to rich bitches on television drinking champagne in the back of a limousine -- "do wealthy people REALLY swill alcohol that EARLY in the day?!" -- she thought for a moment, then said: "when I get rich, I'm gonna have a rootbeer float and a big-ass sloppy chili dog, in the back of a Rolls".
This is a good thing. Although I will confess that I am myself not really familiar with "big-ass sloppy chili dog', seeing as I never fully adapted to American fatty snacks when I returned to the States as a young adult.
It sounds deliciously depraved, yet innocent.
"When I get rich, I'm gonna have a rootbeer float and a big-ass sloppy chili dog ... "
My idea of suitable junkfood for the back of a Rolls consists of a Dutch-style unidentified fried object, with mustard and sambal.
And a small side of fries with peanut-sauce.
As for the drink, I am not at all decided.
Sodas with or without ice-cream aren't a thing in my world, and Dutch people didn't drink at the junkfood emporium when I was younger.
Though they may have been drunk by the time they got there.
I thoroughly appreciate an apartment mate who never touches liquor, and does not hang around with booze-hounds.
I myself disapprove somewhat of intoxicants before dinner time. In which concept (dinner time) we can also include the cocktail hour, assuming that there is a spot of cheese. The pre-dinner glass of wine may overlap the during-dinner glasses of wine, or, if it is a festive social occasion one has been pressured to attend, some modest Scotch and water.
Abstemiousness, but in moderation.
I do indeed drink at times.
Not during the day.
Champagne in the back of a limo seems so decadent and weak-willed, especially during normal hours and when there is no reason for bubbly.
Self-indulgent, and rather trashy.
Vulgar.
Okay, as regards drinking I am a puritan. Not when it comes to tobacco or food, or nice long baths, good heavens no, but definitely booze.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
MY HEART GOES OUT TO THE ANTARCTICANS
Sometimes an individual wishes to be pampered. Yesterday evening while walking back from Walgreen's a loony offered me a banana. World, listen up: if that's your idea of pampering me, you are failing. Big time.
Yeah, I know, those poor little orphans in Antarctica are crying themselves to sleep every night for want of a banana. "Oh", they will exclaim, "if I only had a banana, I would be so happy!"
Then they weep piteously.
I am not them.
Bananas give me the itchies.
Sort of a latex allergy.
Nix on bananas.
I am still not over my cold, and I've got a major sore throat. The other day my apartment mate roasted a chicken, the carcass of which would have made a splendid soup, but it was for her boyfriend and she took all of the pieces over to his place. Because I am the stubborn stoic and phlegmatic sort, I did not let her know that I was sick and needed a soft touch. And she, being more Asperger than I, didn't notice a damned thing thank g-d, and still has no clue that a bit of pamperish behaviour might not be taken entirely amiss.
None of the other women with whom I came in contact over my Tuesday-Wednesday weekend have wigged onto my state either, with the possible exception of the owner of the shop in Chinatown where I regularly get noodles and "breakfast fixings". But her face always looks winsome and slightly sad anyway, all kinds of poetic, so I can't read her at all.
But it wouldn't matter, because I am a gwailo, and therefore must be presumed to have relationships and health issues that are quite incomprehensible, and it is best not to get too close.
Besides, it is so hard to read a gwailo's face. Altogether baffling. We all have similarly incomprehensible thought patterns and emotions, and, though disturbingly we all look different, we grok identically queer, and one is likely to get flummoxed if too closely involved. It might be acid indigestion, or it might be existenzangst. Who can really know?
Gwailos are naturally grumpy.
Temperamental.
可能佢患有流感，上呼吸道感染，發燒，感冒，喉嚨痛，或只食過啦啲奇怪嘅嘢。
What is particularly frustrating is that what I wanted to do was huffle around the apartment smoking my pipes and reading interesting things, snacking, alertly wagging my tail, and, possibly, interacting with other humans.
Instead I had just two pipes all weekend long.
And I didn't eat much.
I slept a lot.
It feels like I've wasted my days off.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Yeah, I know, those poor little orphans in Antarctica are crying themselves to sleep every night for want of a banana. "Oh", they will exclaim, "if I only had a banana, I would be so happy!"
Then they weep piteously.
I am not them.
Bananas give me the itchies.
Sort of a latex allergy.
Nix on bananas.
I am still not over my cold, and I've got a major sore throat. The other day my apartment mate roasted a chicken, the carcass of which would have made a splendid soup, but it was for her boyfriend and she took all of the pieces over to his place. Because I am the stubborn stoic and phlegmatic sort, I did not let her know that I was sick and needed a soft touch. And she, being more Asperger than I, didn't notice a damned thing thank g-d, and still has no clue that a bit of pamperish behaviour might not be taken entirely amiss.
None of the other women with whom I came in contact over my Tuesday-Wednesday weekend have wigged onto my state either, with the possible exception of the owner of the shop in Chinatown where I regularly get noodles and "breakfast fixings". But her face always looks winsome and slightly sad anyway, all kinds of poetic, so I can't read her at all.
But it wouldn't matter, because I am a gwailo, and therefore must be presumed to have relationships and health issues that are quite incomprehensible, and it is best not to get too close.
Besides, it is so hard to read a gwailo's face. Altogether baffling. We all have similarly incomprehensible thought patterns and emotions, and, though disturbingly we all look different, we grok identically queer, and one is likely to get flummoxed if too closely involved. It might be acid indigestion, or it might be existenzangst. Who can really know?
Gwailos are naturally grumpy.
Temperamental.
可能佢患有流感，上呼吸道感染，發燒，感冒，喉嚨痛，或只食過啦啲奇怪嘅嘢。
What is particularly frustrating is that what I wanted to do was huffle around the apartment smoking my pipes and reading interesting things, snacking, alertly wagging my tail, and, possibly, interacting with other humans.
Instead I had just two pipes all weekend long.
And I didn't eat much.
I slept a lot.
It feels like I've wasted my days off.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, June 07, 2017
GENERAL TSO'S CHICKEN; THE BE ALL AND END ALL OF PROPER CHINESE FOOD
A big jar of aged Nicaraguan leaf just rolled over and fell on my gouty foot. Please imagine the "feels" right now. I suffer for my art, and I belatedly realize that normal people do not have big jars of tobacco located on the floor precisely where they can accomplish the maximum amount of evil.
Of course, this being San Francisco, I know normal only second-hand. From reading, mostly. Dorothy and Kansas are normal.
General Tso's Chicken is normal.
左宗棠雞
['Jo jung tong gai']
A gentleman at the chachanteng where I ate a late lunch yesterday was extremely upset when they served him a General Tso's Chicken (左宗棠雞 'jo jung tong gai') that did not meet his exacting expectations. What he demanded was "real General Tso's, not this weird shit, deepfried, the traditional Szechuanese style". He further averred that they could not possibly be genuine Chinese, what on earth were they doing running a restaurant?
Making the exchange rather remarkable was that he himself appeared to be American Chinese(*) and absolutely incapable of speaking any variation of his presumed ancestral language. And that this was at a restaurant in the precise centre of San Francisco Chinatown which is run by hardworking immigrants from Toishan, where everybody else (a total of nearly forty people including staff) was speaking Chinese.
Jo Jung Tong Gai, or as it's also called Jo Gung Gai (左公雞 "the left-sided rooster"), was invented over on the East Coast about one generation ago by a chef from Taiwan whose customers where overwhelmingly non-Chinese. The version that everybody knows is a mongrel that Szechuanese do not find particularly palatable, is virtually unknown in China, and shows up on all menus for an overwhelmingly non-Chinese clientele.
It's more American than anything else.
[The Left Sided Rooster: the surname 左 also means 'left' or 'left sided', and 公 means 'public', 'duke', and is often used honorifically for elderly gentlemen or ancient worthies. A 雞 is a chicken, to specify cockerel or rooster you append 公 to 雞, thus: 雞公. Duke Tso's chicken, a public cock.]
The customary dish is nuggets of chicken boned, battered and deepfried, then heat-tossed with a soy-based spicy sweet sauce to glaze the lumps. Optionally sesame seeds are strewn over or it's dumped on some blanched broccoli to make it more visually appealing. Or healthy looking.
Multiple variations are possible.
I've had it, and I'm fairly certain my apartment-mate (who actually is ethnically Chinese) has also had it. But we've never cooked it, nor is it something that separately or together we would likely order. Especially not in a Chinese restaurant in Chinatown catering primarily to Chinese, serving the more Chinese-y spectrum of chachanteng food, although their menu does have two whole pages of American Chinese chow for other folks.
It seems like something you might get in the Financial District.
Or out in the avenues, definitely the suburbs.
Panda Palace in Hayward.
Along with "Great Wall Chicken".
Which a bartender invented.
Late last night.
What the angry man settled on instead was mapo tofu (麻婆豆腐), because they couldn't possibly "fuck around wid dat". He left in a loudly agitated state before it arrived, speculating that they were going to poison him.
I'm fairly certain they were glad to see him go.
Mapo tofu is also not, strictly speaking, typical of Chinese food.
Although it is Chinese, and deservedly popular.
You should probably get white poached chicken (白切雞 'paak chit gai') or wonton soup (雲吞湯 'wan tan tong') instead; it's nearly impossible to "fuck around wid dat"
The customer is always right. Even when the customer is, as is often the case, completely wrong. Or batshit crazy.
AFTERWORD
My late lunch was 涼瓜斑球飯同埋一杯港式奶茶 (bitter melon fish with rice and a cup of milk-tea). Which was very nice, although the dinner theatre made it epic.
Next time I will order the General Tso's Chicken. It has been a long time since I ate it, and I am keen to find out what their version is.
Their cooking is very good.
NOTE
(*) There's a particular type of American Chinese person who will bluster and act proprietary about all aspects of Chinese culture, despite having little familiarity and being completely monolingual in English. One can very well understand their behaviour and even sympathize, because Caucasians frequently do go all meaningful and expert, and will at the drop of a hat start white-splaining things such as fengshui, daoism, and The Great Wall to an audience of other white people. In Chinese restaurants they sometimes act defensively loud, especially if they can't read or speak one iota of the language, because it is their culture too, and they own it.
And don't you dare forget that.
But speaking to them in Chinese only irritates them.
That reminds me.
What's remarkable about The Great Wall is .....
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Of course, this being San Francisco, I know normal only second-hand. From reading, mostly. Dorothy and Kansas are normal.
General Tso's Chicken is normal.
左宗棠雞
['Jo jung tong gai']
A gentleman at the chachanteng where I ate a late lunch yesterday was extremely upset when they served him a General Tso's Chicken (左宗棠雞 'jo jung tong gai') that did not meet his exacting expectations. What he demanded was "real General Tso's, not this weird shit, deepfried, the traditional Szechuanese style". He further averred that they could not possibly be genuine Chinese, what on earth were they doing running a restaurant?
Making the exchange rather remarkable was that he himself appeared to be American Chinese(*) and absolutely incapable of speaking any variation of his presumed ancestral language. And that this was at a restaurant in the precise centre of San Francisco Chinatown which is run by hardworking immigrants from Toishan, where everybody else (a total of nearly forty people including staff) was speaking Chinese.
Jo Jung Tong Gai, or as it's also called Jo Gung Gai (左公雞 "the left-sided rooster"), was invented over on the East Coast about one generation ago by a chef from Taiwan whose customers where overwhelmingly non-Chinese. The version that everybody knows is a mongrel that Szechuanese do not find particularly palatable, is virtually unknown in China, and shows up on all menus for an overwhelmingly non-Chinese clientele.
It's more American than anything else.
[The Left Sided Rooster: the surname 左 also means 'left' or 'left sided', and 公 means 'public', 'duke', and is often used honorifically for elderly gentlemen or ancient worthies. A 雞 is a chicken, to specify cockerel or rooster you append 公 to 雞, thus: 雞公. Duke Tso's chicken, a public cock.]
The customary dish is nuggets of chicken boned, battered and deepfried, then heat-tossed with a soy-based spicy sweet sauce to glaze the lumps. Optionally sesame seeds are strewn over or it's dumped on some blanched broccoli to make it more visually appealing. Or healthy looking.
Multiple variations are possible.
I've had it, and I'm fairly certain my apartment-mate (who actually is ethnically Chinese) has also had it. But we've never cooked it, nor is it something that separately or together we would likely order. Especially not in a Chinese restaurant in Chinatown catering primarily to Chinese, serving the more Chinese-y spectrum of chachanteng food, although their menu does have two whole pages of American Chinese chow for other folks.
It seems like something you might get in the Financial District.
Or out in the avenues, definitely the suburbs.
Panda Palace in Hayward.
Along with "Great Wall Chicken".
Which a bartender invented.
Late last night.
What the angry man settled on instead was mapo tofu (麻婆豆腐), because they couldn't possibly "fuck around wid dat". He left in a loudly agitated state before it arrived, speculating that they were going to poison him.
I'm fairly certain they were glad to see him go.
Mapo tofu is also not, strictly speaking, typical of Chinese food.
Although it is Chinese, and deservedly popular.
You should probably get white poached chicken (白切雞 'paak chit gai') or wonton soup (雲吞湯 'wan tan tong') instead; it's nearly impossible to "fuck around wid dat"
The customer is always right. Even when the customer is, as is often the case, completely wrong. Or batshit crazy.
AFTERWORD
My late lunch was 涼瓜斑球飯同埋一杯港式奶茶 (bitter melon fish with rice and a cup of milk-tea). Which was very nice, although the dinner theatre made it epic.
Next time I will order the General Tso's Chicken. It has been a long time since I ate it, and I am keen to find out what their version is.
Their cooking is very good.
NOTE
(*) There's a particular type of American Chinese person who will bluster and act proprietary about all aspects of Chinese culture, despite having little familiarity and being completely monolingual in English. One can very well understand their behaviour and even sympathize, because Caucasians frequently do go all meaningful and expert, and will at the drop of a hat start white-splaining things such as fengshui, daoism, and The Great Wall to an audience of other white people. In Chinese restaurants they sometimes act defensively loud, especially if they can't read or speak one iota of the language, because it is their culture too, and they own it.
And don't you dare forget that.
But speaking to them in Chinese only irritates them.
That reminds me.
What's remarkable about The Great Wall is .....
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, June 06, 2017
BUT I'M THINKING OF BECOMING A GORILLA
The truly great thing about the computer age is that those of us who are not social butterflies need never notice that we aren't perfectly people-adept. Between scanning informative articles, clicking "like" underneath status updates, and contributing occasional comments to obscure sites, it is possible to avoid facing the brutal fact of our singularity.
When Savage Kitten and I broke up nearly seven years ago, there was no split between our friends. She's so anti-social most of mine were barely even aware of her existence, and because of that, for a similar reason based on her lack of social tendencies, I never met any of hers after she stopped doing aikido. And in any case, neither of us had very many.
In the first few years after that I gradually stopped associating with fellow travellers in a grass-roots organization. When all you have in common is a political cause (which was attracting far too many wart-covered dimwits at that point), the pleasure of that company diminishes.
Then my employ changed, which also upset certain patterns.
I really don't have many real-world friends.
I sort of miss a social life.
Savage Kitten found another boyfriend, and because of well-meaning and totally insane advice from several of the people in my circle, I avoided dating entirely. I am still aghast at the sincere suggestion that I should have a series of affairs with Filipinas to get over the break-up, or join a church to cruise for attractive single women. Being told that I should lurk in laundromats and the vegetable aisle of Safeway sounded quite repulsive, as did the idea that the best thing after the toy company closed down would be to go overseas and come back with someone sweet and charming who didn't speak English. There were other recommendations even more absurd.
You neurotypicals are kind of clueless.
Fortunately the berserk and meddlesome passive-aggressive nonsense from people who only have my best interests at heart has ceased.
Seeing as they no longer invite me to various holiday celebrations or family events anyway, I do not have to pretend to be overjoyed to meet their crazy single relatives either -- not that that happened often, or ever -- and the only feasts I attend now are a totally secular Christmas among atheists with cioppino, and a birthday party.
That's two things.
Everything else I watch from the outside.
Amazingly, my customers think I am a friendly and witty fellow, as do a number of patrons at a particular cigar club. They are often keen to talk to me. They don't see the bah-humbuggetiness underneath the surface.
As you should understand, none of them are "suitable".
I am sometimes jealous of my ex. She found somebody in almost no time, and he too is reasonably people-unfriendly. They have separate friend-sets of about half a dozen or less each. They talk to each other on the phone every day. And eat together two or three times a week.
Despite their immense differences.
I'm not a phone person.
Today I didn't speak to a single live human till teatime, and that was only to greet them properly, place my order, and ask for the bill. During the few hours spent in the vicinity of others I mostly smoked my pipe while observing people at a distance.
I think that was enough. Possibly it was.
TER VERANTWOORDING
By the way, the title of this bit is taken from the last line (spoken by Marty Feldman) of 'Let's Speak English, Part Two' in 'At Last The 1948 Show' with Graham Chapman, Marty Feldman, Tim Brooke-Taylor and John Cleese, in which the fourth chartered accountant, on the right, acts disruptively; he is "cross with the Wop producer, because the gorilla is underpaid".
There are a few anarchic moments, but it all ends well.
The tea trolley is a loss, I'm afraid.
We learned something.
Sugar. Greenhouse. Surgical trusses.
==========================================================================
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All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
When Savage Kitten and I broke up nearly seven years ago, there was no split between our friends. She's so anti-social most of mine were barely even aware of her existence, and because of that, for a similar reason based on her lack of social tendencies, I never met any of hers after she stopped doing aikido. And in any case, neither of us had very many.
In the first few years after that I gradually stopped associating with fellow travellers in a grass-roots organization. When all you have in common is a political cause (which was attracting far too many wart-covered dimwits at that point), the pleasure of that company diminishes.
Then my employ changed, which also upset certain patterns.
I really don't have many real-world friends.
I sort of miss a social life.
Savage Kitten found another boyfriend, and because of well-meaning and totally insane advice from several of the people in my circle, I avoided dating entirely. I am still aghast at the sincere suggestion that I should have a series of affairs with Filipinas to get over the break-up, or join a church to cruise for attractive single women. Being told that I should lurk in laundromats and the vegetable aisle of Safeway sounded quite repulsive, as did the idea that the best thing after the toy company closed down would be to go overseas and come back with someone sweet and charming who didn't speak English. There were other recommendations even more absurd.
You neurotypicals are kind of clueless.
Fortunately the berserk and meddlesome passive-aggressive nonsense from people who only have my best interests at heart has ceased.
Seeing as they no longer invite me to various holiday celebrations or family events anyway, I do not have to pretend to be overjoyed to meet their crazy single relatives either -- not that that happened often, or ever -- and the only feasts I attend now are a totally secular Christmas among atheists with cioppino, and a birthday party.
That's two things.
Everything else I watch from the outside.
Amazingly, my customers think I am a friendly and witty fellow, as do a number of patrons at a particular cigar club. They are often keen to talk to me. They don't see the bah-humbuggetiness underneath the surface.
As you should understand, none of them are "suitable".
I am sometimes jealous of my ex. She found somebody in almost no time, and he too is reasonably people-unfriendly. They have separate friend-sets of about half a dozen or less each. They talk to each other on the phone every day. And eat together two or three times a week.
Despite their immense differences.
I'm not a phone person.
Today I didn't speak to a single live human till teatime, and that was only to greet them properly, place my order, and ask for the bill. During the few hours spent in the vicinity of others I mostly smoked my pipe while observing people at a distance.
I think that was enough. Possibly it was.
TER VERANTWOORDING
By the way, the title of this bit is taken from the last line (spoken by Marty Feldman) of 'Let's Speak English, Part Two' in 'At Last The 1948 Show' with Graham Chapman, Marty Feldman, Tim Brooke-Taylor and John Cleese, in which the fourth chartered accountant, on the right, acts disruptively; he is "cross with the Wop producer, because the gorilla is underpaid".
There are a few anarchic moments, but it all ends well.
The tea trolley is a loss, I'm afraid.
We learned something.
Sugar. Greenhouse. Surgical trusses.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
A RECIPE FOR WORLD PEACE
A conversation about terrorism in Europe, and the centrality of the Israel-Palestine conflict to absolutely everything in this world, including Doctor Who, The Grateful Dead, Wifi speeds, and that stoners are the root of all that is good and sweet and civilized, finally brought up the Spam Fritter.
Because nothing is more British than the Spam Fritter.
It's what the world needs right now.
With a cup of tea.
SPAM FRITTER
[From: THE SPAM® CAFE (official Spam® website).]
Ingredients
1 x 340g can SPAM® Chopped Pork and Ham
150g x plain flour
225ml x cold water
oil for frying
Method
Cut SPAM® Chopped Pork into six thick slices.
Put the flour into a mixing bowl and gradually add the cold water and whisk until the mixture is fully blended and smooth. It should be quite a thick coating batter.
Heat the oil in a large frying pan.
Dip each slice of SPAM® Chopped Pork and Ham into the batter, drain off excess and place in the hot oil.
When golden brown, drain on kitchen paper.
Serve with chips and peas.
[150 grammes of flour equals one cup, 225 millilitres of water is slightly less than a cup.]
Sadiq Khan likes it. Hillary Clinton likes it. Vladimir Putin grew up on it. World leaders and cultural trend setters almost without exception have a fondness for Spam Fritter. Rock stars, politicians, Bogie Yaalon, and the entire parliamentary delegation of Meretz: Issawi Frej, Zehava Gal-On, Ilan Gilon, Michal Rozin, and Tamar Zandberg. Paul Ryan, Mitch McConnell, Orrin Hatch, and unofficial mascot of the Republican Party Ted Nugent!
It is staggeringly popular in both Tehran and Kiryat Arba.
In Mea Shearim, upon dark-fall on Saturdays, hordes of Haredi teenagers swarm the street-stands set up by enterprising Palestinian stonethrowers to feast upon Spam Fritters, served à la juive with a sweet-mayo glaze or dip, ei mit zwiebel on the side, and red horseradish. Which is altogether similar to Belgium, where it is accompanied by friet met mayonnaise, Tierenteyn mustard, and expensive sambals from Holland. The entire world LOVES the Spam Fritter, than which there is positively naught better.
Except, maybe, Chicken Tikka Masala.
But that's for later at night.
After pubs close.
The only folks who don't like it are Donald Trump, Benjamin Netanyahu, and Recep Tayyip Erdoğan. But they're dicks anyway, schmendricky, the kind of people who would put ketchup on steak.
Even Kim Jong-un eats it!
Often!
Jonathan said: "I don't even know what a spam fritter is."
Heavens! I was aghast.
Upscale version are made with panko crumbs.
Served with Sriracha & lime aioli.
Spam is like gefilte fish.
Only more so.
==========================================================================
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Because nothing is more British than the Spam Fritter.
It's what the world needs right now.
With a cup of tea.
SPAM FRITTER
[From: THE SPAM® CAFE (official Spam® website).]
Ingredients
1 x 340g can SPAM® Chopped Pork and Ham
150g x plain flour
225ml x cold water
oil for frying
Method
Cut SPAM® Chopped Pork into six thick slices.
Put the flour into a mixing bowl and gradually add the cold water and whisk until the mixture is fully blended and smooth. It should be quite a thick coating batter.
Heat the oil in a large frying pan.
Dip each slice of SPAM® Chopped Pork and Ham into the batter, drain off excess and place in the hot oil.
When golden brown, drain on kitchen paper.
Serve with chips and peas.
[150 grammes of flour equals one cup, 225 millilitres of water is slightly less than a cup.]
Sadiq Khan likes it. Hillary Clinton likes it. Vladimir Putin grew up on it. World leaders and cultural trend setters almost without exception have a fondness for Spam Fritter. Rock stars, politicians, Bogie Yaalon, and the entire parliamentary delegation of Meretz: Issawi Frej, Zehava Gal-On, Ilan Gilon, Michal Rozin, and Tamar Zandberg. Paul Ryan, Mitch McConnell, Orrin Hatch, and unofficial mascot of the Republican Party Ted Nugent!
It is staggeringly popular in both Tehran and Kiryat Arba.
In Mea Shearim, upon dark-fall on Saturdays, hordes of Haredi teenagers swarm the street-stands set up by enterprising Palestinian stonethrowers to feast upon Spam Fritters, served à la juive with a sweet-mayo glaze or dip, ei mit zwiebel on the side, and red horseradish. Which is altogether similar to Belgium, where it is accompanied by friet met mayonnaise, Tierenteyn mustard, and expensive sambals from Holland. The entire world LOVES the Spam Fritter, than which there is positively naught better.
Except, maybe, Chicken Tikka Masala.
But that's for later at night.
After pubs close.
The only folks who don't like it are Donald Trump, Benjamin Netanyahu, and Recep Tayyip Erdoğan. But they're dicks anyway, schmendricky, the kind of people who would put ketchup on steak.
Even Kim Jong-un eats it!
Often!
Jonathan said: "I don't even know what a spam fritter is."
Heavens! I was aghast.
Upscale version are made with panko crumbs.
Served with Sriracha & lime aioli.
Spam is like gefilte fish.
Only more so.
==========================================================================
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LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
I'M CERTAIN YOU WANT FRIES WITH THAT!
Because I know it will piss off various people, and because it is a splendid song anyway, I'm embedding the Yiddish version of the Internationale here.
The working classes in the United States have taken it in their shorts since that bastard Reagan was elected. So have the middle classes, except many of them are too quisling to admit that sainted Ronnie forked them over.
Let's not even start on his fright bitch hag wife.
דער אינטערנאַציאָנאַל
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gMlNy71IrkU.]
It's probably costing you an arm and a leg to send your kids to college, isn't it? It didn't used to be that way, and they used to actually get an education.
We're twenty fourth in literacy. Second in general ignorance. Seventeenth in educational performance. Down near the bottom in reading comprehension for all grammar school grades. In the bottom third for our students' scientific knowledge, and far far below South Korea, Japan, Singapore, Hong Kong, and several more countries for general education.
Again, this started in the nineteen eighties.
Under president Ronald Reagan.
A blasted saint.
==========================================================================
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The working classes in the United States have taken it in their shorts since that bastard Reagan was elected. So have the middle classes, except many of them are too quisling to admit that sainted Ronnie forked them over.
Let's not even start on his fright bitch hag wife.
דער אינטערנאַציאָנאַל
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gMlNy71IrkU.]
It's probably costing you an arm and a leg to send your kids to college, isn't it? It didn't used to be that way, and they used to actually get an education.
We're twenty fourth in literacy. Second in general ignorance. Seventeenth in educational performance. Down near the bottom in reading comprehension for all grammar school grades. In the bottom third for our students' scientific knowledge, and far far below South Korea, Japan, Singapore, Hong Kong, and several more countries for general education.
Again, this started in the nineteen eighties.
Under president Ronald Reagan.
A blasted saint.
==========================================================================
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==========================================================================
Monday, June 05, 2017
EAT YOUR RAINBOW FRIES, CUPCAKE!
Sometimes complete strangers unknowingly do their damnedest to get my goat. And probably will never know that it was gotten, or when, or what their contribution to the goat-getting could have even been.
Sometimes you can tell they're kinda trailer.
A person with a name from scripture posted elsewhere: "I love Jesus. I love America. I love guns. Deal with it."
Come again?
"I love Jesus. I love America. I love guns. Deal with it."
A few minutes later he went on a rant about McDonald's Rainbow Fries, the gist of which was that he felt personally offended, for all the usual Christian family loving reasons.
Okay .........
I don't love Jesus. I am still on the fence about America (where my ancestors arrived before it was even called that). I have a gun, but am not sexually attracted to it. What's this Freedom shit, dimwit? Do you even understand what that means? Or is it just something you were taught? Oh, and Rainbow Fries are the same as Save the Whales Fries, poor little oppressed Southerner Fries, Masonic Conspiracy Fries ... it's just potatoes, dumbass! We stole those from a bunch of native peoples, plus the French, Belgians, and Irish. Oh good, you're drinking coffee. Where's that from? Stupid hat, by the way.
Why DO you look like one of the Bundys, Huckleberry?
Are you blood-kin of those boys?
That's sad.
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Sometimes you can tell they're kinda trailer.
A person with a name from scripture posted elsewhere: "I love Jesus. I love America. I love guns. Deal with it."
Come again?
"I love Jesus. I love America. I love guns. Deal with it."
A few minutes later he went on a rant about McDonald's Rainbow Fries, the gist of which was that he felt personally offended, for all the usual Christian family loving reasons.
Okay .........
I don't love Jesus. I am still on the fence about America (where my ancestors arrived before it was even called that). I have a gun, but am not sexually attracted to it. What's this Freedom shit, dimwit? Do you even understand what that means? Or is it just something you were taught? Oh, and Rainbow Fries are the same as Save the Whales Fries, poor little oppressed Southerner Fries, Masonic Conspiracy Fries ... it's just potatoes, dumbass! We stole those from a bunch of native peoples, plus the French, Belgians, and Irish. Oh good, you're drinking coffee. Where's that from? Stupid hat, by the way.
Why DO you look like one of the Bundys, Huckleberry?
Are you blood-kin of those boys?
That's sad.
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AN EXAMPLE OF GOOD GOVERNANCE
The headsheep is none too bright. Last night he managed to upset several of the roomies -- not as bad as our stupid butt-hurt president getting petulant that the attack in London took the attention away from him -- but in his own way he's fairly idiotic. He inadvertently said bad things about the Roomie in Chief, ms. Bruin.
Whatever you do, don't do that. Respect the bear.
She's doing a great job. It's huge.
And that reminds me .....
All of you morons should have voted for the teddy bear, instead of the neon-orange clod. And you Israelis, with your Jerusalem Post opinions, should have kindly kept your mouths shut. You weren't helping.
Fortunately, the headsheep does not have a twitter account, and despite always throwing his chest out none of the press pay any attention, so whether or not he covfefed is immaterial.
Sean "Puffy" Spicer does not have to bluster a response, or exercise his considerable talent for sounding stupid. Kellyanne Conway doesn't have to alien-predator-like flash her teeth. General McMaster, Rex Tillerson, and Ivanka don't have to bury their faces in their elfin hands sadly muttering something unintelligible about the medication not being strong enough.
Wet trembling hands, scrunched-up faces.
The headsheep is only a few inches tall. He does not have much clout. He's not a vicious troll, and he wasn't bought by Sheldon Adelson.
He has not pissed off that sow Caroline Glick yet.
The real powerholder is the ursine.
Keep your eyes on the bear.
You know, you guys are really hosed. You've got three deranged pit-vipers to whack before Orrin Hatch becomes your leader. The line of succession in this household, should anything ever happen to the Senior Teddy Bear, heaven forbid, is nothing but good folks from the top on down. The pretty little she-sheep ably assisted by her spider boy friend, fuchsia cat and one-legged monkey, triumvirate of kitten - raccoon -- hippo, and so on.
The headsheep isn't even on the list.
Y'all must have been a bunch of right bastards in a previous life.
Bad karma is a bitch, babies.
Huge.
==========================================================================
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Whatever you do, don't do that. Respect the bear.
She's doing a great job. It's huge.
And that reminds me .....
All of you morons should have voted for the teddy bear, instead of the neon-orange clod. And you Israelis, with your Jerusalem Post opinions, should have kindly kept your mouths shut. You weren't helping.
Fortunately, the headsheep does not have a twitter account, and despite always throwing his chest out none of the press pay any attention, so whether or not he covfefed is immaterial.
Sean "Puffy" Spicer does not have to bluster a response, or exercise his considerable talent for sounding stupid. Kellyanne Conway doesn't have to alien-predator-like flash her teeth. General McMaster, Rex Tillerson, and Ivanka don't have to bury their faces in their elfin hands sadly muttering something unintelligible about the medication not being strong enough.
Wet trembling hands, scrunched-up faces.
The headsheep is only a few inches tall. He does not have much clout. He's not a vicious troll, and he wasn't bought by Sheldon Adelson.
He has not pissed off that sow Caroline Glick yet.
The real powerholder is the ursine.
Keep your eyes on the bear.
You know, you guys are really hosed. You've got three deranged pit-vipers to whack before Orrin Hatch becomes your leader. The line of succession in this household, should anything ever happen to the Senior Teddy Bear, heaven forbid, is nothing but good folks from the top on down. The pretty little she-sheep ably assisted by her spider boy friend, fuchsia cat and one-legged monkey, triumvirate of kitten - raccoon -- hippo, and so on.
The headsheep isn't even on the list.
Y'all must have been a bunch of right bastards in a previous life.
Bad karma is a bitch, babies.
Huge.
==========================================================================
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Sunday, June 04, 2017
AND THEN THEY THREW 'NEENER NEENER NEENER' INTO THE DISCUSSION
I am beginning to hate seeing the usual stupid messages from Israelis after terrorist attacks in Europe that basically say "now you know how we feel".
Gentlemen, kindly stop doing that. Your e-mail/facebook post/blog article is tasteless, irrelevant, stupid, and insensitive.
Besides being immaterial.
Whenever you do that, you look like a bunch of dicks.
And stuff like that, for equally ridiculous and irrelevant reasons, makes me want to bring up the King David Hotel, as well as sergeants Clifford Martin and Mervyn Paice.
You know that was fucking barbaric, right? As was your treatment of the bodies, and how y'all booby-trapped the trees from which you dangled them afterwards?
Menachem Begin should have been tried for war crimes.
Yeah, all terrorism everywhere is exactly equivalent. And everything serves to remind everyone all the time of the situation that Israelis experience everyday. Because everything is always about Israel, isn't it?
Please shut up, Israelis. This isn't about you.
PS
Neither was what happened in Portland last week, and I notice y'all didn't make any of the usual stupid comparisons. Why not? Couldn't find the rhetorical rubber and guts? Too much of a stretch?
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Gentlemen, kindly stop doing that. Your e-mail/facebook post/blog article is tasteless, irrelevant, stupid, and insensitive.
Besides being immaterial.
Whenever you do that, you look like a bunch of dicks.
And stuff like that, for equally ridiculous and irrelevant reasons, makes me want to bring up the King David Hotel, as well as sergeants Clifford Martin and Mervyn Paice.
You know that was fucking barbaric, right? As was your treatment of the bodies, and how y'all booby-trapped the trees from which you dangled them afterwards?
Menachem Begin should have been tried for war crimes.
Yeah, all terrorism everywhere is exactly equivalent. And everything serves to remind everyone all the time of the situation that Israelis experience everyday. Because everything is always about Israel, isn't it?
Please shut up, Israelis. This isn't about you.
PS
Neither was what happened in Portland last week, and I notice y'all didn't make any of the usual stupid comparisons. Why not? Couldn't find the rhetorical rubber and guts? Too much of a stretch?
==========================================================================
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SHAMELESS WHORES
Two of the worst human beings currently holding office predictably praised Trump withdrawing from the Paris Climate deal.
Republican US House Speaker Paul Ryan
"The Paris climate agreement was simply a raw deal for America. Signed by President Obama without Senate ratification, it would have driven up the cost of energy, hitting middle-class and low-income Americans the hardest.
"I commend President Trump for fulfilling his commitment to the American people and withdrawing from this bad deal."
Republican Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell
"I applaud President Trump and his administration for dealing yet another significant blow to the Obama administration's assault on domestic energy production and jobs. President Obama made commitments in this deal based off a costly power plan that we knew at the time was on shaky legal ground. By withdrawing from this unattainable mandate, President Trump has reiterated his commitment to protecting middle class families across the country and workers throughout coal country from higher energy prices and potential job loss."
SOURCE: http://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-40128266
These two are the problem. And the people who vote for them, as well as the industries who support their positions and have fully paid for them.
There is a swamp in Washington: Republican traitors and criminals.
"Sen. Jim Inhofe (R-Okla.), who spearheaded the effort to convince Trump to withdraw from the historic accord, has accepted $2,997,048 from the energy sector since 1989, records show. His largest single donor, Devon Energy, is one of Oklahoma's biggest oil and gas companies."
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Republican US House Speaker Paul Ryan
"The Paris climate agreement was simply a raw deal for America. Signed by President Obama without Senate ratification, it would have driven up the cost of energy, hitting middle-class and low-income Americans the hardest.
"I commend President Trump for fulfilling his commitment to the American people and withdrawing from this bad deal."
Republican Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell
"I applaud President Trump and his administration for dealing yet another significant blow to the Obama administration's assault on domestic energy production and jobs. President Obama made commitments in this deal based off a costly power plan that we knew at the time was on shaky legal ground. By withdrawing from this unattainable mandate, President Trump has reiterated his commitment to protecting middle class families across the country and workers throughout coal country from higher energy prices and potential job loss."
SOURCE: http://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-40128266
These two are the problem. And the people who vote for them, as well as the industries who support their positions and have fully paid for them.
There is a swamp in Washington: Republican traitors and criminals.
Source: Represent.Us
"Sen. Jim Inhofe (R-Okla.), who spearheaded the effort to convince Trump to withdraw from the historic accord, has accepted $2,997,048 from the energy sector since 1989, records show. His largest single donor, Devon Energy, is one of Oklahoma's biggest oil and gas companies."
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DON'T SPIT NOW
While at work I only let one to one or two people that I was sick, and, fortunately, even though most customers are a social lot, they are dense as bricks and just full of themselves, so they didn't notice anything different.
My throat feels like hell, so having to raise my voice to talk to the one-side deaf one was sheer torture. He's going to see the doctor next week, it's probably just a plugged ear, but over time it has just gotten worse.
Can I please repeat everything extra loud? In triplicate too?
Dude, my throat is sore, I can't even swallow.
Or drink tea. Or smoke.
When I got home I went nearly directly to bed. No dinner, couldn't even get half of my coffee down. Trying to take two Aspirin just now had me doubled up in utter agony. The earliest I could see the doctor would be Tuesday, by which time I should be well on the road to recovery.
At least the area behind my nose is better.
No more white chunky discharge.
I didn't tell my worry-wort coworker about any of this. She would panic, spend the entire day wiping down surfaces with disinfectant, then be psychosomatically afflicted for weeks.
She doesn't need that.
Neither do I.
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My throat feels like hell, so having to raise my voice to talk to the one-side deaf one was sheer torture. He's going to see the doctor next week, it's probably just a plugged ear, but over time it has just gotten worse.
Can I please repeat everything extra loud? In triplicate too?
Dude, my throat is sore, I can't even swallow.
Or drink tea. Or smoke.
When I got home I went nearly directly to bed. No dinner, couldn't even get half of my coffee down. Trying to take two Aspirin just now had me doubled up in utter agony. The earliest I could see the doctor would be Tuesday, by which time I should be well on the road to recovery.
At least the area behind my nose is better.
No more white chunky discharge.
I didn't tell my worry-wort coworker about any of this. She would panic, spend the entire day wiping down surfaces with disinfectant, then be psychosomatically afflicted for weeks.
She doesn't need that.
Neither do I.
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Friday, June 02, 2017
BUT I HAD PLANS!
This blogger doesn't do sick very well. Other people get to swan around pale and moaning, being very theatrical about their ailments -- and yes perhaps I could swallow a few spoonfuls of chicken soup / Scotch Whisky / a tiny little bon bon -- but I tend to hide my physical state.
Me? Oh I am all-right! Couldn't feel better.
Yeah, no. By the time work ended yesterday I had a sore-throat, muscle-aches, a throbbing head, and was ready to vomit. The bus-ride back was surreal, and after a bit of putzing around I retired to my cluttered futon, to wake up on average every hour or so for painful urination as my kidneys fought to deal with the bug.
I am fairly certain my apartment mate didn't notice my condition.
Because really, I am fine!
Today is a regularly scheduled day off. And, naturally, I am immensely peeved that I have to suffer the flu on my own time. If a man has got to feel miserable, it is better by far to do so at work. I have things to do, dammit, and I was looking forward to lunch followed by a good smoke. Perhaps tomato porkchop over rice, or baked Portuguese chicken rice. A cup of hot milk-tea. Then a bowl of either Dunhill's Nightcap, for the feistiness, or Samuel Gawith's Saint James Flake, for a profoundly dreamy badger-like state of mind at twilight.
Puttering around the alleyways of Chinatown feeling on top of the world, and full of beans. Instead of achy, without energy, dreading the day, and trying to fade into the brickwork.
Why is the futon cluttered? Simple. There is enough room for two people, but only one person uses it, wherefore the side near the window has a mound of books, magazines, correspondence I haven't opened, small boxes, a pile of clean laundry, and several stuffed animals.
Yes, I should clean it up. But why bother?
I know where my most frequently used dictionaries are.
As well as mood-inducing reading material.
And there's only me there.
It's fine.
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Me? Oh I am all-right! Couldn't feel better.
Yeah, no. By the time work ended yesterday I had a sore-throat, muscle-aches, a throbbing head, and was ready to vomit. The bus-ride back was surreal, and after a bit of putzing around I retired to my cluttered futon, to wake up on average every hour or so for painful urination as my kidneys fought to deal with the bug.
I am fairly certain my apartment mate didn't notice my condition.
Because really, I am fine!
Today is a regularly scheduled day off. And, naturally, I am immensely peeved that I have to suffer the flu on my own time. If a man has got to feel miserable, it is better by far to do so at work. I have things to do, dammit, and I was looking forward to lunch followed by a good smoke. Perhaps tomato porkchop over rice, or baked Portuguese chicken rice. A cup of hot milk-tea. Then a bowl of either Dunhill's Nightcap, for the feistiness, or Samuel Gawith's Saint James Flake, for a profoundly dreamy badger-like state of mind at twilight.
Puttering around the alleyways of Chinatown feeling on top of the world, and full of beans. Instead of achy, without energy, dreading the day, and trying to fade into the brickwork.
Why is the futon cluttered? Simple. There is enough room for two people, but only one person uses it, wherefore the side near the window has a mound of books, magazines, correspondence I haven't opened, small boxes, a pile of clean laundry, and several stuffed animals.
Yes, I should clean it up. But why bother?
I know where my most frequently used dictionaries are.
As well as mood-inducing reading material.
And there's only me there.
It's fine.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Thursday, June 01, 2017
UBER GOOBER
MacDonalds and Uber-eats in Amsterdam plan to collaborate on home deliveries in a test area of the Netherlands, whisking eaties to your door. You'll no longer have to leave your couch for fried grease pudding!
[SOURCE: McDonald's start proef met thuisbezorging.]
Joy!
Soon Dutch people will be fatter than Americans.
I'm not so sure that's a good idea. The Dutch are already the tallest in Europe. If the prospect of enormous blond slugs waddling across the continent doesn't give you the willies, it should.
Or scooting. In plus-size little rascals
Maybe you thought scrawny Africans crossing the Mediterranean were an invasion, but just wait for the plus-sized Dutch.
Of course, in the United States that simply might mean many more people at Walmart. Or more who are 'much more'. Ramps, turning lanes, pre-stressed concrete, powering stations. Emergency rooms with cranes and fork-lifts.
Plus deeper ball pits in the children's area, with behemoths cruising just beneath the surface.
It's our brave new world.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
[SOURCE: McDonald's start proef met thuisbezorging.]
Joy!
Soon Dutch people will be fatter than Americans.
I'm not so sure that's a good idea. The Dutch are already the tallest in Europe. If the prospect of enormous blond slugs waddling across the continent doesn't give you the willies, it should.
Or scooting. In plus-size little rascals
Maybe you thought scrawny Africans crossing the Mediterranean were an invasion, but just wait for the plus-sized Dutch.
Of course, in the United States that simply might mean many more people at Walmart. Or more who are 'much more'. Ramps, turning lanes, pre-stressed concrete, powering stations. Emergency rooms with cranes and fork-lifts.
Plus deeper ball pits in the children's area, with behemoths cruising just beneath the surface.
It's our brave new world.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
GLUTEN, GRILLED MEAT, AND CHILIES
At teatime I was in a Vietnamese-Chinese restaurant having a sandwich and some coffee. After which I wandered around the neighborhood with my pipe. It struck me at that time that what was needed was small Vietnamese and Chinese restaurants for working people near my job -- to which I will be headed in a few hours -- but if such places did open up, they would be picketed by white people offended that gluten and meat were served.
Because white people in the Bay Area are stupid.
Many of them, probably the majority.
They are born to disapprove.
The pretentious white people of San Francisco, Berkeley, and Marin County believe in mystery religions, espouse popular causes, avoid meat and gluten, practice yoga, and are heartfelt, sincere, and sensitive.
They nurture the Maya, Palestinians, Native Americans.
Hug trees, beavers, dolphins.
My pretentions run somewhat the other way. The Maya, Pally-wallies, and Native Americans do not really concern me, animal protein is delicious, as is bread, and your allergies and food sensitivities strike me as just as frikking pretentious as your aversion to gmos and vaccination.
Nurtursome sincerity makes me heave.
You know, there's something wrong when the only customers are Chinese speakers (including myself). The food is good, the joint is clean, no one has ever gotten food poisoning, and the coffee is exceptional, even if it isn't flavoured with caramel raspberry unicorn syrup.
My work days are marked by tuna salad, or the new Italian cold cut sandwich. Either one of those with Sriracha, which is the only thing that makes Marin County edible. Yes, yes, I know that there is some good food in the boondocks, but get real dammit, I use public transportation to get to work, I don't have time to run all over the primitive part of the world looking for lunch, and the place just isn't urban enough to concentrate eats with flavour in one convenient zone within ten minutes walk of my job. Marin isn't a place, it's a buggered-up state of mind.
Real people live in the city.
Let me tell you what you can do with that yoga mat.
I'll squirt Sriracha on it to make it easier.
BTW: Kale gives you cancer.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Because white people in the Bay Area are stupid.
Many of them, probably the majority.
They are born to disapprove.
The pretentious white people of San Francisco, Berkeley, and Marin County believe in mystery religions, espouse popular causes, avoid meat and gluten, practice yoga, and are heartfelt, sincere, and sensitive.
They nurture the Maya, Palestinians, Native Americans.
Hug trees, beavers, dolphins.
My pretentions run somewhat the other way. The Maya, Pally-wallies, and Native Americans do not really concern me, animal protein is delicious, as is bread, and your allergies and food sensitivities strike me as just as frikking pretentious as your aversion to gmos and vaccination.
Nurtursome sincerity makes me heave.
You know, there's something wrong when the only customers are Chinese speakers (including myself). The food is good, the joint is clean, no one has ever gotten food poisoning, and the coffee is exceptional, even if it isn't flavoured with caramel raspberry unicorn syrup.
My work days are marked by tuna salad, or the new Italian cold cut sandwich. Either one of those with Sriracha, which is the only thing that makes Marin County edible. Yes, yes, I know that there is some good food in the boondocks, but get real dammit, I use public transportation to get to work, I don't have time to run all over the primitive part of the world looking for lunch, and the place just isn't urban enough to concentrate eats with flavour in one convenient zone within ten minutes walk of my job. Marin isn't a place, it's a buggered-up state of mind.
Real people live in the city.
Let me tell you what you can do with that yoga mat.
I'll squirt Sriracha on it to make it easier.
BTW: Kale gives you cancer.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
JUSTICE FOR SOORAJ
Complaint given to the IIT Madras administration
JUSTICE FOR SOORAJ·WEDNESDAY, 31 MAY 201
Respected Sir,
R. Sooraj, a research scholar from the Department of Aerospace Engineering, was violently beaten up by a group of eight students. These students rounded up Sooraj and a research colleague of his, Anoop, in Himalaya mess during lunch hours on 30th May, 2017. One of the students, identified as Manish Kumar Singh, came and sat next to Sooraj and started asking him his name and personal details. When Sooraj asked him why he was asking for the same, he replied that it was for no particular reason. Following this, Manish began questioning Sooraj as to whether he had eaten beef the day before. When he got a reply in the affirmative, he got very agitated and angrily asked Sooraj whether he would eat beef and come to Jain Mess (where Sooraj was dining). Immediately afterwards, before Sooraj had a chance to respond, Manish brutally attacked Sooraj with a blow to the back of his head. As soon as the attack began, the group of students who had accompanied Manish rushed and surrounded Sooraj and held him back, and also restrained and pushed Anoop away to make sure he couldn’t intervene. Manish pulled Sooraj’s hair and held his head down and continued to punch his face repeatedly. All the while, Manish was yelling expletives and that he would kill anyone who ate beef.
When finally Anoop and some bystander managed to intervene, the attackers quickly left the scene, along with Manish.
Sooraj was immediately taken to the institute hospital. Manish appeared at the hospital soon after along with his friends. Here, he boasted of having beaten up Sooraj and made death threats to Azhar, one of the students who had come to check up on him. He also named Justin Joseph as another one whom he would kill. This incident should be clearly visible in the CCTV footage of the hospital. Sooraj was later referred to Sankara Nethralaya as the institute doctors were not able to asses the condition of his eye due to excessive swelling. He is now admitted to Apollo Vanagaram, after scans revealed that the injuries suffered to his right eye and face during the attack were severe and he requires surgery to recover.
This shocking incident has happened after some of the perpetrators made open threats through social media platforms like Facebook against the students who participated in the discussion about the implications of the recent Central government rule on prevention of trade of cattle for slaughter. The student who assaulted Sooraj, Manish, had called up some participants of the same gathering to get the names of those who organised the event. He had threatened the same people (and a complaint had already been filed regarding the same with you). Manish had warned the participant students of dire consequences.
The group of students who attacked Sooraj entered the Himalaya mess when there were very few students eating in the mess. Manish had already finished eating and was earlier seen waiting on the ground floor of Himalaya mess along with a few others. They saw Sooraj and Anoop enter the mess and followed them to indulge in the extremely condemnable form of violence. The nature of the attack suggests that it is clearly pre-planned, well thought out and executed.
Sooraj is a senior research scholar who has been helpful to his fellow students and research scholars. His friendly nature and kind gestures had earned him respect among the research scholars in the campus. He was not an organiser of the event that happened on Sunday and took part in the event in solidarity with the nation-wide agitation against the new Central government’s rule. The fact that this has happened to a research scholar like Sooraj points towards the magnitude of perversion entrenched in the students who attacked him.
The perpetrators of the attack are out in open and their presence can cause more harm to the students. These students who attacked Sooraj, including Manish, have been identified to be engaging in similar violent attacks in the past. Institutions like IIT Madras are places for debates and discussion. Horrifying attacks like these will hamper the culture of harmony in these institutions. We demand that all the students who attacked Sooraj be expelled from the institute and disallowed entry into the campus with immediate effect, with Sooraj being given an assurance regarding the same. The institute should take full responsibility for Sooraj’s medical expenses till he fully recovers. All the actions taken on the students involved should be communicated to the general student body. We hope the IIT Madras administration will fulfill our demands and uphold our right to life, right to dissent and right to organize peaceful gatherings, as guaranteed by the Constitution of India.
SOURCE: https://www.facebook.com/notes/justice-for-sooraj/complaint-given-to-the-iit-madras-administration/472873809716963/
A reason for the existence of that page may be found here: Why we exist? #justiceforsooraj.
As of the present time, none of the perpetrators of the assault have been arrested or expelled.
Please note that it is still legal to enjoy your delicious Kerala Beef Fry in Madras, but doing so might cost you your life in Gujarat and Uttar Pradesh, where Bakht goondas not only hold office, but have lynched people suspected of even considering ever eating a fine beefsteak.
The prime minister of India is Narendra D. Modi, whose reputation is not entirely clean; his administration while in charge of Gujarat is considered complicit in the 2002 riots, and his ideological kin led efforts to destroy the Babri Mosque as well as persecute (murder) Muslims, Christians, Parsees, Sikhs, and atheists, in various parts of India. Most notably in Gujarat, Rajastan, Maharashtra, Haryana, and Uttar Pradesh.
This is the muscular Hindu Nationalism beloved by certain circles in the United States, who would see allies in foreign gangsters.
Narendra Modi, by the way, has a fine relationship with our own leader, who puts ketchup on his steaks. Which is an abomination.
PS.: Still researching recipes for Kerala Beef Fry. I have mostly avoided beef since 2004, when our own beef industry was caught lying through their teeth about certain practices that contribute to the spread of BSE (Bovine Spongiform Encephalitis) among other things, but we appear to be clean now, and I will probably soon start experimenting with beef and coconut chunks rubbed with masala and dry-fried on low heat for several hours.
Descriptions of Kerala Beef Fry make it sound wonderful.
It's a pity that you cannot find it here.
For risk of offending.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
JUSTICE FOR SOORAJ·WEDNESDAY, 31 MAY 201
Respected Sir,
R. Sooraj, a research scholar from the Department of Aerospace Engineering, was violently beaten up by a group of eight students. These students rounded up Sooraj and a research colleague of his, Anoop, in Himalaya mess during lunch hours on 30th May, 2017. One of the students, identified as Manish Kumar Singh, came and sat next to Sooraj and started asking him his name and personal details. When Sooraj asked him why he was asking for the same, he replied that it was for no particular reason. Following this, Manish began questioning Sooraj as to whether he had eaten beef the day before. When he got a reply in the affirmative, he got very agitated and angrily asked Sooraj whether he would eat beef and come to Jain Mess (where Sooraj was dining). Immediately afterwards, before Sooraj had a chance to respond, Manish brutally attacked Sooraj with a blow to the back of his head. As soon as the attack began, the group of students who had accompanied Manish rushed and surrounded Sooraj and held him back, and also restrained and pushed Anoop away to make sure he couldn’t intervene. Manish pulled Sooraj’s hair and held his head down and continued to punch his face repeatedly. All the while, Manish was yelling expletives and that he would kill anyone who ate beef.
When finally Anoop and some bystander managed to intervene, the attackers quickly left the scene, along with Manish.
Sooraj was immediately taken to the institute hospital. Manish appeared at the hospital soon after along with his friends. Here, he boasted of having beaten up Sooraj and made death threats to Azhar, one of the students who had come to check up on him. He also named Justin Joseph as another one whom he would kill. This incident should be clearly visible in the CCTV footage of the hospital. Sooraj was later referred to Sankara Nethralaya as the institute doctors were not able to asses the condition of his eye due to excessive swelling. He is now admitted to Apollo Vanagaram, after scans revealed that the injuries suffered to his right eye and face during the attack were severe and he requires surgery to recover.
This shocking incident has happened after some of the perpetrators made open threats through social media platforms like Facebook against the students who participated in the discussion about the implications of the recent Central government rule on prevention of trade of cattle for slaughter. The student who assaulted Sooraj, Manish, had called up some participants of the same gathering to get the names of those who organised the event. He had threatened the same people (and a complaint had already been filed regarding the same with you). Manish had warned the participant students of dire consequences.
The group of students who attacked Sooraj entered the Himalaya mess when there were very few students eating in the mess. Manish had already finished eating and was earlier seen waiting on the ground floor of Himalaya mess along with a few others. They saw Sooraj and Anoop enter the mess and followed them to indulge in the extremely condemnable form of violence. The nature of the attack suggests that it is clearly pre-planned, well thought out and executed.
Sooraj is a senior research scholar who has been helpful to his fellow students and research scholars. His friendly nature and kind gestures had earned him respect among the research scholars in the campus. He was not an organiser of the event that happened on Sunday and took part in the event in solidarity with the nation-wide agitation against the new Central government’s rule. The fact that this has happened to a research scholar like Sooraj points towards the magnitude of perversion entrenched in the students who attacked him.
The perpetrators of the attack are out in open and their presence can cause more harm to the students. These students who attacked Sooraj, including Manish, have been identified to be engaging in similar violent attacks in the past. Institutions like IIT Madras are places for debates and discussion. Horrifying attacks like these will hamper the culture of harmony in these institutions. We demand that all the students who attacked Sooraj be expelled from the institute and disallowed entry into the campus with immediate effect, with Sooraj being given an assurance regarding the same. The institute should take full responsibility for Sooraj’s medical expenses till he fully recovers. All the actions taken on the students involved should be communicated to the general student body. We hope the IIT Madras administration will fulfill our demands and uphold our right to life, right to dissent and right to organize peaceful gatherings, as guaranteed by the Constitution of India.
SOURCE: https://www.facebook.com/notes/justice-for-sooraj/complaint-given-to-the-iit-madras-administration/472873809716963/
A reason for the existence of that page may be found here: Why we exist? #justiceforsooraj.
As of the present time, none of the perpetrators of the assault have been arrested or expelled.
Please note that it is still legal to enjoy your delicious Kerala Beef Fry in Madras, but doing so might cost you your life in Gujarat and Uttar Pradesh, where Bakht goondas not only hold office, but have lynched people suspected of even considering ever eating a fine beefsteak.
The prime minister of India is Narendra D. Modi, whose reputation is not entirely clean; his administration while in charge of Gujarat is considered complicit in the 2002 riots, and his ideological kin led efforts to destroy the Babri Mosque as well as persecute (murder) Muslims, Christians, Parsees, Sikhs, and atheists, in various parts of India. Most notably in Gujarat, Rajastan, Maharashtra, Haryana, and Uttar Pradesh.
This is the muscular Hindu Nationalism beloved by certain circles in the United States, who would see allies in foreign gangsters.
Narendra Modi, by the way, has a fine relationship with our own leader, who puts ketchup on his steaks. Which is an abomination.
PS.: Still researching recipes for Kerala Beef Fry. I have mostly avoided beef since 2004, when our own beef industry was caught lying through their teeth about certain practices that contribute to the spread of BSE (Bovine Spongiform Encephalitis) among other things, but we appear to be clean now, and I will probably soon start experimenting with beef and coconut chunks rubbed with masala and dry-fried on low heat for several hours.
Descriptions of Kerala Beef Fry make it sound wonderful.
It's a pity that you cannot find it here.
For risk of offending.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
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GRITS AND TOFU
Like most Americans, I have a list of people who should be peacefully retired from public service and thereafter kept away from their desks,...
