In the same way that Rome is known for dysentery, Venice for the black plague, Paris for crotch rot and syphilis, Shenzhen for Sars, now Wuhan is known for the new and improved respiratory ailment similar to the common cold. A pity, really, because unlike Paris, one cannot travel to Wuhan.
And now I really want to got there.
楚菜
From Wikipedia:
"Hubei cuisine emphasises the preparation of ingredients and the matching of colours. It specialises in steaming techniques. Its style is influenced by the cooking methods of the cuisines of neighbouring provinces such as Sichuan and Hunan. As a result, Hubei cuisine also uses dried hot pepper, black pepper and other spices to enhance the flavour of dishes."
"Wuhan style, which specialises in soups. Wuhan is also known for its noodle dishes, such as hot dry noodles. Additionally, Wuhan is famous for its dry pots, which are similar to hot pot but without the soup base."
End quote.
An internet search for 武漢餐廳 ("Wuhan restaurant") pulls up a map which is, for the foreseeable future, totally useless. The images that result are mostly uninteresting, though searching for 武漢菜 ("Wuhan cuisine") is infinitely more rewarding. Several beautiful photos.
Wuchang Fish, steamed buns, steamed fish, steamed pork, steamed meatballs, steamed shrimp balls.
And many delicious looking noodle dishes.
The regionym "Chu" (楚 'cho') applies to both Hubei and Hunan (湖北 and 湖南 respectively) and dates back three millennia. It plays a prominent role in the Spring and Autumn period and Warring States period.
The character means 'distinct, clear, obvious', as well as a bush that is bracken-like.
Other words particularly associated with that place: 嬭 ('naai'; milk, titty, mommy) 酓 ('yim'; bitter, sip) 芈 ('me'; bleat, baa) 熊 ('hung'; bear, brilliant).
At least for the next several days, researching Wuhan cuisine through the internet may be an obsession. Particularly noodles. And steamed pork.
Results might be posted.
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Tuesday, February 11, 2020
Monday, February 10, 2020
SAVE THE CALAMARES!
Having the devil of a time trying to figure out why there were baby squid in my head. Were they curried? In any case they were delicious.
And probably someone was upset at the idea, because squid are adorable and must be protected.
As a food maven, the method of preparation was more important to me, and those details were missing. There is no mental picture to clue me in. Just a texture, and the realization that I ate well.
It has actually been ages since I've had squid.
Nor am I particularly fond of them.
They're good with noodles.
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As a food maven, the method of preparation was more important to me, and those details were missing. There is no mental picture to clue me in. Just a texture, and the realization that I ate well.
It has actually been ages since I've had squid.
Nor am I particularly fond of them.
They're good with noodles.
==========================================================================
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All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Sunday, February 09, 2020
STILL THINKING ABOUT THE OIL
In short: Malaria has a historical impact, the moon rising above the Oakland hills looks beautiful and like a salted egg yolk (月兒那麼漂亮), alligators are hard to train, and she may look like a little meatball but she knows very well where your hurty-places are. Oh, and it was pipe club day today.
Also, loukoumia benefits your squidgy bits.
I woke up this morning from a dream in which I was naked, covered in oil, in a hotel room in Hong Kong, frantically arguing with housekeeping that they should come by later as I still had not washed myself, I smelled bad.
I explained 我重未沖涼 ('ngoh chong mei chong leung') while keeping the door at just a crack. Fortunately housekeeping agreed with me. 嘩！好鹹， 臭油膉噉 ('waa', 'hou haam', 'chau yau yik gam').
There may have been an element of snark there, but I was in no position to stand on ceremony.
My dreams are somewhat influenced by blood pressure medication. I have never been covered with oil in a hotel room, anywhere. And I do feel that something is lacking, a character building experience I have missed.
if I head to Hong Kong anytime soon I'll be sure to cover myself with oil.
Waa! Hou haam! Chau yau yik gam!
Everybody at pipe club loved the Black Mallory, and Bernard also liked the Arango Balkan Supreme. There was some discussion of Wuhan Corona, sour beer, Virginias. Plus noshing on cheeses, salume, crispy crackers, Islay whisky, and port. Being an abstemious sort, I simply had cheese and drank far too much tea, and was zipped to the gills when I left.
The boys are planning another social event.
Yeah, these aren't "men only" occasions, but the number of women pipe smokers is rather small (understatement), and of the spouses that some of the members of the pipe club have, only one gladly suffers the company of the rest of us. We probably smell too much like grampa for the others.
Ngoh-tei chuen-po hou chau yau-yik.
我哋全部好臭油膉。
Naturally the regime was also mentioned. Unlike the cigar smoker infestation that normally dominates, the pipe smokers are more socially aware and politically American than a bunch of alligators, and in consequence there were no stupid comments, and Vladimir Putin was not praised in any way. So it was a peaceful and interesting meeting.
I did not mention the hotel in Hong Kong.
It would've been complicated.
好複雜。
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
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LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Also, loukoumia benefits your squidgy bits.
I woke up this morning from a dream in which I was naked, covered in oil, in a hotel room in Hong Kong, frantically arguing with housekeeping that they should come by later as I still had not washed myself, I smelled bad.
I explained 我重未沖涼 ('ngoh chong mei chong leung') while keeping the door at just a crack. Fortunately housekeeping agreed with me. 嘩！好鹹， 臭油膉噉 ('waa', 'hou haam', 'chau yau yik gam').
There may have been an element of snark there, but I was in no position to stand on ceremony.
My dreams are somewhat influenced by blood pressure medication. I have never been covered with oil in a hotel room, anywhere. And I do feel that something is lacking, a character building experience I have missed.
if I head to Hong Kong anytime soon I'll be sure to cover myself with oil.
Waa! Hou haam! Chau yau yik gam!
Everybody at pipe club loved the Black Mallory, and Bernard also liked the Arango Balkan Supreme. There was some discussion of Wuhan Corona, sour beer, Virginias. Plus noshing on cheeses, salume, crispy crackers, Islay whisky, and port. Being an abstemious sort, I simply had cheese and drank far too much tea, and was zipped to the gills when I left.
The boys are planning another social event.
Yeah, these aren't "men only" occasions, but the number of women pipe smokers is rather small (understatement), and of the spouses that some of the members of the pipe club have, only one gladly suffers the company of the rest of us. We probably smell too much like grampa for the others.
Ngoh-tei chuen-po hou chau yau-yik.
我哋全部好臭油膉。
Naturally the regime was also mentioned. Unlike the cigar smoker infestation that normally dominates, the pipe smokers are more socially aware and politically American than a bunch of alligators, and in consequence there were no stupid comments, and Vladimir Putin was not praised in any way. So it was a peaceful and interesting meeting.
I did not mention the hotel in Hong Kong.
It would've been complicated.
好複雜。
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
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LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
WUHAN PULMONARY DISEASE
So after a long delay, and with due pomp and gravitas, the World Health Organization announced a name for the Wuhan disease: "Novel Corona". Novel, as in 'new'. Yeah, guys? Everyone is calling it something else. The English-speaking world says 'Wuhan Corona Virus', the Chinese-tongued world calls it 武漢肺炎 ('mou hon fei yim'; "Wuhan pneumonia").
What part of the world do you-all live in?
Oh, yeah..... to quote from one of the people at WHO: "The main reason for this declaration is not what is happening in China but what is happening in other countries."
Dead people in China? NOT really important, internationally.
Dead people elsewhere? An emergency according to WHO.
Maybe people outside of China don't die very often.
==========================================================================
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What part of the world do you-all live in?
Oh, yeah..... to quote from one of the people at WHO: "The main reason for this declaration is not what is happening in China but what is happening in other countries."
Dead people in China? NOT really important, internationally.
Dead people elsewhere? An emergency according to WHO.
Maybe people outside of China don't die very often.
==========================================================================
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LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Saturday, February 08, 2020
AUTHOR'S BLEND
There are actually several "author's blend" pipe tobaccos out there. Most of them are aromatic shite you should not be caught dead smoking, as well as mere attempts to capitalize on the fact that Mark Twain and J. R. Tolkien were famous pipe smokers (as was Rudyard Kipling), some are stuff that Josef Stalin (yet another famous pipe smoker) might have liked, and a few blends not so pretentiously named might actually have been smoked by authors (such as Tennessee Williams, Arthur Miller, or William Cuthbert Faulkner), though purchased under pedestrian handles from their local tobacco merchant.
There was a time when people smoked pipes, rather than snorting coke and whining about their childhood.
Recalling that age, though badly: Mark Twain pipe tobacco is topped with caramel and vanilla: Burleys, along with some bright Virginia, and "a slightly nutty-sweet flavor that you can enjoy at any time of day." Described by one irate reviewer as "the worst effing Danish" that he's ever tried.
Famous author Joseph Stalin would have like it.
Quod erat demonstrandum.
Fellow pipesmoker Nick T., who lives in the wilds of Colorado, and has an authoritative beard, describes a recent afternoon staying at home with a book when it was buggery cold outside: "I'm smoking a bowl of my own “Author’s Blend” -- two parts mild burley, two parts black cavendish, and one part latakia, all purchased from my area tobacconist. Perfect for reading and writing on a chilly day in the Black Hills." End quote.
If it's an unflavoured black Cavendish, that sounds really excellent. Not being a Burley Tobacco fan myself, I would naturally prefer Virginias, with a soupçon of black Virginia ribbon, and a smidge of Perique.
Nick T. is very much a Burley man; two tobaccos of which he speaks favourably are Stokkebye Toasted Burley and Amphora Burley Blend, which, and I quote, smells "scrumptiously of nuts, cinnamon, brown sugar, and cocoa". These are elements often naturally present in fine Burley.
Mark Twain smoked shoe leather, J. R. Tolkien liked Capstan, Erinmore Flake, and Gold Block, and Joseph Stalin smoked Crimean Gavniyok. Almost exclusively. And it should be mentioned that neither Donald Trump nor Vladimir Putin are pipesmokers, which tells you a lot about them.
I am not an author or Joseph Stalin. Though I also have nice facial hair.
What I'm smoking these days is four parts aged plain Virginia flake, two parts eight year old medium brown flake, and one part matured dark Virginia flake. The second tobacco listed has a touch of Perique. One could make something similar by using Cornell & Diehl's Opening Night (or Samuel Gawith's Golden Glow & Best Brown, or Orlik Golden Sliced), McConnell's Folded Flake or Rattray's Marlin Flake (much the same thing), and Dunhill Dark Flake OR any decent dark flake, perhaps stoved to deepen the flavour.
Blonde, blonde, blonde, blonde; brownish, brownish; mahagony.
Like Nick T., I too like tea when I'm smoking. At work I end up high as a kite because of all the cups, on my days off, because the last smokes of the day must be outside, I ensure that I am caffeinated ere lighting up.
I pride myself on being a bad example for kids.
Especially when I'm outdoors.
I worked today.
Kite.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
There was a time when people smoked pipes, rather than snorting coke and whining about their childhood.
Recalling that age, though badly: Mark Twain pipe tobacco is topped with caramel and vanilla: Burleys, along with some bright Virginia, and "a slightly nutty-sweet flavor that you can enjoy at any time of day." Described by one irate reviewer as "the worst effing Danish" that he's ever tried.
Famous author Joseph Stalin would have like it.
Quod erat demonstrandum.
Fellow pipesmoker Nick T., who lives in the wilds of Colorado, and has an authoritative beard, describes a recent afternoon staying at home with a book when it was buggery cold outside: "I'm smoking a bowl of my own “Author’s Blend” -- two parts mild burley, two parts black cavendish, and one part latakia, all purchased from my area tobacconist. Perfect for reading and writing on a chilly day in the Black Hills." End quote.
If it's an unflavoured black Cavendish, that sounds really excellent. Not being a Burley Tobacco fan myself, I would naturally prefer Virginias, with a soupçon of black Virginia ribbon, and a smidge of Perique.
Nick T. is very much a Burley man; two tobaccos of which he speaks favourably are Stokkebye Toasted Burley and Amphora Burley Blend, which, and I quote, smells "scrumptiously of nuts, cinnamon, brown sugar, and cocoa". These are elements often naturally present in fine Burley.
Mark Twain smoked shoe leather, J. R. Tolkien liked Capstan, Erinmore Flake, and Gold Block, and Joseph Stalin smoked Crimean Gavniyok. Almost exclusively. And it should be mentioned that neither Donald Trump nor Vladimir Putin are pipesmokers, which tells you a lot about them.
I am not an author or Joseph Stalin. Though I also have nice facial hair.
What I'm smoking these days is four parts aged plain Virginia flake, two parts eight year old medium brown flake, and one part matured dark Virginia flake. The second tobacco listed has a touch of Perique. One could make something similar by using Cornell & Diehl's Opening Night (or Samuel Gawith's Golden Glow & Best Brown, or Orlik Golden Sliced), McConnell's Folded Flake or Rattray's Marlin Flake (much the same thing), and Dunhill Dark Flake OR any decent dark flake, perhaps stoved to deepen the flavour.
Blonde, blonde, blonde, blonde; brownish, brownish; mahagony.
Like Nick T., I too like tea when I'm smoking. At work I end up high as a kite because of all the cups, on my days off, because the last smokes of the day must be outside, I ensure that I am caffeinated ere lighting up.
I pride myself on being a bad example for kids.
Especially when I'm outdoors.
I worked today.
Kite.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
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LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Friday, February 07, 2020
A SUFFICIENCY OF WALNUTS
Six prescriptions, three supplements, coffee, and a pipe. This is not a whine about my condition, as my blood pressure is excellent now and I am often so full of piss and vinegar I must be unbearable, but a celebration.
And it's breakfast.
I woke up with a sore elbow, and Little White Nipple Guy and a bittermelon omelette in my head. I can't figure out the elbow.
What did I bump yesterday?
Little White Nipple Guy has been around twice in the past week. No, it's not that he's worried about the flame adjustments on his three Dunhill lighters, which "T" has not seen-to yet; he's blowing through his lucky money from Chinese New Year. Despite the wife and fourteen year old daughter that manifested themselves three years ago, in the eyes of his parents he is undoubtedly still an unmarried son. He must've gotten piles of leisi.
The bitter melon is what I would like to have for lunch today, but the place where I usually go has already seen me once this week, and I don't want to wear out my welcome or have them start taking my patronage for granted. Though I am just one of many customers, I want to be a happy surprise.
The goofball one is glad to see, rather than a fixture.
"You cannot sit there, that's Uncle Stinky Kwailo's table!"
Yeah, um, no.
I am not a nice enough person to be a good fixture, nor interesting enough.
More likable as a rarity than a regularity.
Bittermelon omelette over rice with hot sauce is the lunch of champions, but so are any number of other things, including chicken bits and salt fish fried rice (咸魚雞粒炒飯 'haam yü gai naap chaau faan'), century egg and lean pork congee (皮蛋瘦肉粥 'pei daan sau yiuk juk'), and porkchops, which as a nod to the good advice from the nutritionist whom I made miserable before a normal person's lunchtime several months ago by describing in great and glowing detail everything bad available within three blocks of her office which would be good to eat and completely inadvisable from her point of view I should probably not have too often.
Lest I run in to someone I know from the clinic.
Who would be undoubtedly horrified.
Or themselves embarrassed.
Eating bad stuff.
The chance of encountering Little White Nipple Guy in Chinatown is slim to nil. Not only is his ability to talk Cantonese so much worse than mine, but he's unfamiliar with the neighborhood, and that cowboy hat makes him look ridiculous. The local people may be extremely tolerant of eccentrics, but they are also extremely realistic.
Besides, they see enough crazy already.
I go there.
==========================================================================
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==========================================================================
And it's breakfast.
I woke up with a sore elbow, and Little White Nipple Guy and a bittermelon omelette in my head. I can't figure out the elbow.
What did I bump yesterday?
Little White Nipple Guy has been around twice in the past week. No, it's not that he's worried about the flame adjustments on his three Dunhill lighters, which "T" has not seen-to yet; he's blowing through his lucky money from Chinese New Year. Despite the wife and fourteen year old daughter that manifested themselves three years ago, in the eyes of his parents he is undoubtedly still an unmarried son. He must've gotten piles of leisi.
The bitter melon is what I would like to have for lunch today, but the place where I usually go has already seen me once this week, and I don't want to wear out my welcome or have them start taking my patronage for granted. Though I am just one of many customers, I want to be a happy surprise.
The goofball one is glad to see, rather than a fixture.
"You cannot sit there, that's Uncle Stinky Kwailo's table!"
Yeah, um, no.
I am not a nice enough person to be a good fixture, nor interesting enough.
More likable as a rarity than a regularity.
Bittermelon omelette over rice with hot sauce is the lunch of champions, but so are any number of other things, including chicken bits and salt fish fried rice (咸魚雞粒炒飯 'haam yü gai naap chaau faan'), century egg and lean pork congee (皮蛋瘦肉粥 'pei daan sau yiuk juk'), and porkchops, which as a nod to the good advice from the nutritionist whom I made miserable before a normal person's lunchtime several months ago by describing in great and glowing detail everything bad available within three blocks of her office which would be good to eat and completely inadvisable from her point of view I should probably not have too often.
Lest I run in to someone I know from the clinic.
Who would be undoubtedly horrified.
Or themselves embarrassed.
Eating bad stuff.
The chance of encountering Little White Nipple Guy in Chinatown is slim to nil. Not only is his ability to talk Cantonese so much worse than mine, but he's unfamiliar with the neighborhood, and that cowboy hat makes him look ridiculous. The local people may be extremely tolerant of eccentrics, but they are also extremely realistic.
Besides, they see enough crazy already.
I go there.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
LEI MAN LEUNG KAI
Back in December a Chinese doctor noticed an alarming pattern of disease in the city where he worked, and posted a message to a medical chat group regarding those cases. December 30. Four days later public security hauled him in and forced him to sign a letter admitting that his actions had disturbed the public order.
Because, of course, public security officials know medicine better than doctors.
On 10 January he began coughing, the next day he had a fever and two days later he was himself hospitalized. One month after his public order disturbing chat group post, he was diagnosed.
30 January.
On Wednesday February 5, he passed away.
Which public security officials initially tried to deny. Because, of course, public security officials know more about death than doctors.
From December 30 till today, an increasing number of security measures have been taken. Some were firm, some were wise. There is concern that this newly discovered disease may harm the public order.
In response to the crisis, China has introduced more restrictive measures to try to control the outbreak. They are confident that they are capable of defeating the epidemic.
TRENTON ALLEY, CHINATOWN
Opposite the hospital where my doctor works is an alleyway I particularly like. When the afternoon sun hits just right, it is peacefull and pleasant to the eyes, soothing to the soul. After I see my doctor or have had medical tests done, I often end up there enjoying a quiet smoke, and observing the activity at the stores on the corner, elderly grandparents and little tykes after school, housewives hurrying home with groceries for family dinner. Currently it is named after the capital city of New Jersey (Trenton).
I have no idea why.
不如 ... 李文亮醫生如街
Sure, you may want to keep a name, which recalls the beautiful capital city of a state on the East Coast, with which it has no connection, but I think it would be rather a splendid idea to rename it as Li Wen Liang Street, so that Doctor Li will not and cannot be forgotten ... as public security officials might want to happen. Which will indeed have happened several years hence, when the authoritative account of this new medical crisis is finally written, filled with plauditory mention of the measures taken to control the outbreak. And maintain public order.
How appropriate if a street leading to a hospital were to be named after a doctor who did the right thing.
He was thirty four years old when he died.
He left behind a wife and child.
His wife is expecting.
Li Wen Liang Street.
It has a ring to it.
AFTER WORD
This is just a thought, I have no idea how to bring it to the attention of public officials. Like David Chiu, London Breed, Scott Wiener, Aaron Peskin, et al.
Other than posting it in a chat group.
A medical chat group.
==========================================================================
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LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Because, of course, public security officials know medicine better than doctors.
On 10 January he began coughing, the next day he had a fever and two days later he was himself hospitalized. One month after his public order disturbing chat group post, he was diagnosed.
30 January.
On Wednesday February 5, he passed away.
Which public security officials initially tried to deny. Because, of course, public security officials know more about death than doctors.
From December 30 till today, an increasing number of security measures have been taken. Some were firm, some were wise. There is concern that this newly discovered disease may harm the public order.
In response to the crisis, China has introduced more restrictive measures to try to control the outbreak. They are confident that they are capable of defeating the epidemic.
TRENTON ALLEY, CHINATOWN
Opposite the hospital where my doctor works is an alleyway I particularly like. When the afternoon sun hits just right, it is peacefull and pleasant to the eyes, soothing to the soul. After I see my doctor or have had medical tests done, I often end up there enjoying a quiet smoke, and observing the activity at the stores on the corner, elderly grandparents and little tykes after school, housewives hurrying home with groceries for family dinner. Currently it is named after the capital city of New Jersey (Trenton).
I have no idea why.
不如 ... 李文亮醫生如街
Sure, you may want to keep a name, which recalls the beautiful capital city of a state on the East Coast, with which it has no connection, but I think it would be rather a splendid idea to rename it as Li Wen Liang Street, so that Doctor Li will not and cannot be forgotten ... as public security officials might want to happen. Which will indeed have happened several years hence, when the authoritative account of this new medical crisis is finally written, filled with plauditory mention of the measures taken to control the outbreak. And maintain public order.
How appropriate if a street leading to a hospital were to be named after a doctor who did the right thing.
He was thirty four years old when he died.
He left behind a wife and child.
His wife is expecting.
Li Wen Liang Street.
It has a ring to it.
AFTER WORD
This is just a thought, I have no idea how to bring it to the attention of public officials. Like David Chiu, London Breed, Scott Wiener, Aaron Peskin, et al.
Other than posting it in a chat group.
A medical chat group.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Thursday, February 06, 2020
OUR HOPE FOR THE FUTURE
Considering the season of ire that is starting, and the repulsive candidates who will bloviate upon us for the next ten months, one wonders what the space aliens think of our civilization. Will they, after watching the so-manieth example of Republican chicanery, say "oh yes, Grlaxto-the-odious pulled that shiznit back during the last years of the Snoog Empire, and we ate him", and then start thinking fondly of the curry feasts of ancient day? Or will they turn to helpful videos as both the finest examples of human know-how and illustrations of our complex thought processes?
[Senile old white men probably don't taste like chicken, more like possum. Kind of greasy yet stringy at the same time. Long stewing, strong spices, and lots of cooking sherry are required. And a whole bottle of hot sauce.]
May I present the following video as both politically relevant as well as a splendid exemplar of all the best things in our civilization, the apex of human achievement? Watch it all the way through to the end.
THREE INFORMED VOTERS
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i_clzVlkkcs.]
Let us above all cater to the intelligence of the people in the great state of Iowa. All American elections are a struggle between senile old fossils and insane criminals. As is all of human history.
Considering that I despise our current president (and his entire party), and am apathetic about all of the likely Democratic candidates, this, then, represents what I believe is the best hope for our country.
An exciting platform, a winning personality, and charisma!
I can assure you that he will bring change. America will finally be respected again, our enemies will fear us, and the Russians won't dare meddle in our affairs. Plus the Christians will love him, because he represents all their fears and ideals.
Cthulhu for president.
We deserve him.
==========================================================================
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LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
[Senile old white men probably don't taste like chicken, more like possum. Kind of greasy yet stringy at the same time. Long stewing, strong spices, and lots of cooking sherry are required. And a whole bottle of hot sauce.]
May I present the following video as both politically relevant as well as a splendid exemplar of all the best things in our civilization, the apex of human achievement? Watch it all the way through to the end.
THREE INFORMED VOTERS
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i_clzVlkkcs.]
Let us above all cater to the intelligence of the people in the great state of Iowa. All American elections are a struggle between senile old fossils and insane criminals. As is all of human history.
Considering that I despise our current president (and his entire party), and am apathetic about all of the likely Democratic candidates, this, then, represents what I believe is the best hope for our country.
An exciting platform, a winning personality, and charisma!
I can assure you that he will bring change. America will finally be respected again, our enemies will fear us, and the Russians won't dare meddle in our affairs. Plus the Christians will love him, because he represents all their fears and ideals.
Cthulhu for president.
We deserve him.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, February 05, 2020
A DISTILLATION
When you are on Facebook you are, in effect, in conversation with many other people, who may not realize that. So it's instructive to consider well what you write, and think about the responses you see.
It's like being in a crowded coffee shop.
Here is a harvest of recent activity there by myself as well as others.
A SERIES OF NON-SEQUITURS
Me: Quote from a badly written pro-vegan BBC article: "For example, vegans were allied with the words “weird”, “arrogant”, “preachy”, “militant”, “uptight”, “stupid”, and – mysteriously – “sadistic”." End quote. Umm, that is because vegans ARE weird, arrogant, preachy, militant, uptight, stupid, sadistic. And the author forgot "pissant Protestant dickwads".
Me: Why isn't Iowa a penal colony?
[Maybe I shouldn't post anything on that first cup of coffee. I am not a pleasant person. Spot-on, but bitchy.]
Nurse-Musicologist: The shark told interviewers that it was looking forward to getting a francesinha and taking in a fado concert. The latter is particularly notable since zoologists have long believed that sharks were incapable of feeling saudade.
[Saudade: a profound feeling of melancholy, or sadness upon reflecting, that is a characteristic of the Portuguese. And of sharks.]
Orthodox dulcimer enthusiast: If he's Portuguese, then of course he feels saudade. It's a biogeographical imperative. Plus, he's of the sea, which ups his Portuguese quotient automatically.
[Right on, sister!]
Pipesmoker: So, I'm getting married in March. I'm looking for a special blend to celebrate the day. I like English blends, Virginias, and hybrid (English/aros). Any suggestions, folks?
Other pipesmoker: If you want to do something special I would suggest getting a special pipe for your wedding and smoking your favorite blend in it. You will then have a nice pipe that will always remind of of that special time. It will also be meaningful passing it down to your kids, etc...
[This is bizarre. Let's hope that there will not be a divorce.]
Third pipesmoker: Bigfoot sightings are more common! It must have been wonderful back in the day when you wouldn’t think twice if you seen a pipe smoker.
[One a scale of one to ten, which is more threatening?]
Sh*tposter of record: Phillip II of Macedon once sent the Spartans an ultimatum demanding surrender, asking whether he should come as friend or foe. The Spartans sent back their reply, which was just "neither."
Phillip got pissy and said to them, "You are advised to submit without further delay, for if I bring my army into your land, I will destroy your farms, slay your people, and raze your city"
The Spartans sent back their reply, which was "If."
Phillip decided not to try it.
Thoughtful person: What do we make for dinner to memorialize the downfall of the republic?
Cookery maven: TRADITIONAL ENGLISH ROAST RIB OF BEEF, YORKSHIRE PUDDING, ROAST POTATOES AND BRUSSELS SPROUTS SERVED WITH A RICH GRAVY OF CARAMELISED ONION PAN JUICES AND BEEF STOCK
[Some of that sounds delicious. Some of it sounds like Brussels Sprouts.]
Another cook: Miriyala pulusu (tangy pepper curry with boiled egg. Can be made with brinjals too). Akki hittina mudde (rice flour balls). Rice with prawns gojju (semi dry prawns). Pan seared chicken. Chilled curd with honey.
[Okay! Invite me over for lunch!]
Bengali cook: Bit of History - Dak Bungalows were post office rest houses during the British Raj and when Sahebs used to travel they used to stay overnight at these rest houses and the caretaker cooked mutton curry by adding boiled eggs. Hence the dish is called "Mutton Dak Bungalow" You can keep it dry or watery depending on what you are having with rice or roti.
[Did I already mention lunch?!?]
A lawyer and fellow pipesmoker: Isn't it interesting how, when you get a message from the medics - human or animal - your mind automatically runs to the worst possible scenario? Well, that's what happened with the cat yesterday. His situation apparently isn't as dire as we thought. He has a hyperactive thyroid, and, just conceivably, a kidney problem in addition to the heart murmur. Now we're off to the vet again for medication for the thyroid. For the time being, the kidney problem doesn't seem to be too serious.
[Over the past few months I have come to like him and his cat.]
Yahoo: Psoriatic arthritis is much more than just a few body aches. Research early symptoms of psoriatic arthritis.
Plus advertisements, political campaign contribution beggary, memes, cats, dogs, raccoons, articles about the orange-faced blowtard, and people insulting watchparty hosts in FB groups.
Probably the most charming and engaging text was a chap who lives in Davao detailing having the flu and living off Maggi Kari Ramen noodles for a week while watching reruns of Sailor Moon.
I can imagine myself doing something similar and watching Azumanga Daioh or The Tick. The apartment mate too (Tales From the Dark Side and The Saint, chicken noodle soup).
There is ramen fandom out there.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
It's like being in a crowded coffee shop.
Here is a harvest of recent activity there by myself as well as others.
A SERIES OF NON-SEQUITURS
Me: Quote from a badly written pro-vegan BBC article: "For example, vegans were allied with the words “weird”, “arrogant”, “preachy”, “militant”, “uptight”, “stupid”, and – mysteriously – “sadistic”." End quote. Umm, that is because vegans ARE weird, arrogant, preachy, militant, uptight, stupid, sadistic. And the author forgot "pissant Protestant dickwads".
Me: Why isn't Iowa a penal colony?
[Maybe I shouldn't post anything on that first cup of coffee. I am not a pleasant person. Spot-on, but bitchy.]
Nurse-Musicologist: The shark told interviewers that it was looking forward to getting a francesinha and taking in a fado concert. The latter is particularly notable since zoologists have long believed that sharks were incapable of feeling saudade.
[Saudade: a profound feeling of melancholy, or sadness upon reflecting, that is a characteristic of the Portuguese. And of sharks.]
Orthodox dulcimer enthusiast: If he's Portuguese, then of course he feels saudade. It's a biogeographical imperative. Plus, he's of the sea, which ups his Portuguese quotient automatically.
[Right on, sister!]
Pipesmoker: So, I'm getting married in March. I'm looking for a special blend to celebrate the day. I like English blends, Virginias, and hybrid (English/aros). Any suggestions, folks?
Other pipesmoker: If you want to do something special I would suggest getting a special pipe for your wedding and smoking your favorite blend in it. You will then have a nice pipe that will always remind of of that special time. It will also be meaningful passing it down to your kids, etc...
[This is bizarre. Let's hope that there will not be a divorce.]
Third pipesmoker: Bigfoot sightings are more common! It must have been wonderful back in the day when you wouldn’t think twice if you seen a pipe smoker.
[One a scale of one to ten, which is more threatening?]
Sh*tposter of record: Phillip II of Macedon once sent the Spartans an ultimatum demanding surrender, asking whether he should come as friend or foe. The Spartans sent back their reply, which was just "neither."
Phillip got pissy and said to them, "You are advised to submit without further delay, for if I bring my army into your land, I will destroy your farms, slay your people, and raze your city"
The Spartans sent back their reply, which was "If."
Phillip decided not to try it.
Thoughtful person: What do we make for dinner to memorialize the downfall of the republic?
Cookery maven: TRADITIONAL ENGLISH ROAST RIB OF BEEF, YORKSHIRE PUDDING, ROAST POTATOES AND BRUSSELS SPROUTS SERVED WITH A RICH GRAVY OF CARAMELISED ONION PAN JUICES AND BEEF STOCK
[Some of that sounds delicious. Some of it sounds like Brussels Sprouts.]
Another cook: Miriyala pulusu (tangy pepper curry with boiled egg. Can be made with brinjals too). Akki hittina mudde (rice flour balls). Rice with prawns gojju (semi dry prawns). Pan seared chicken. Chilled curd with honey.
[Okay! Invite me over for lunch!]
Bengali cook: Bit of History - Dak Bungalows were post office rest houses during the British Raj and when Sahebs used to travel they used to stay overnight at these rest houses and the caretaker cooked mutton curry by adding boiled eggs. Hence the dish is called "Mutton Dak Bungalow" You can keep it dry or watery depending on what you are having with rice or roti.
[Did I already mention lunch?!?]
A lawyer and fellow pipesmoker: Isn't it interesting how, when you get a message from the medics - human or animal - your mind automatically runs to the worst possible scenario? Well, that's what happened with the cat yesterday. His situation apparently isn't as dire as we thought. He has a hyperactive thyroid, and, just conceivably, a kidney problem in addition to the heart murmur. Now we're off to the vet again for medication for the thyroid. For the time being, the kidney problem doesn't seem to be too serious.
[Over the past few months I have come to like him and his cat.]
Yahoo: Psoriatic arthritis is much more than just a few body aches. Research early symptoms of psoriatic arthritis.
Plus advertisements, political campaign contribution beggary, memes, cats, dogs, raccoons, articles about the orange-faced blowtard, and people insulting watchparty hosts in FB groups.
Probably the most charming and engaging text was a chap who lives in Davao detailing having the flu and living off Maggi Kari Ramen noodles for a week while watching reruns of Sailor Moon.
I can imagine myself doing something similar and watching Azumanga Daioh or The Tick. The apartment mate too (Tales From the Dark Side and The Saint, chicken noodle soup).
There is ramen fandom out there.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
TAR, WOODSMOKE, AND A FLOWER BASKET
Under an essay in which I mentioned Anita Mui (Voluptuous Fragrances, reader Cecily asked "Out of curiosity, are there any scents on the market you would describe as 'voluptuous'?"
Well. It has been a very long time since I smelled a woman. Seeing as my faint whiff of tobacco and the fires of hell chases the poor dears away from me, and as a smoker my nose buds are not functioning at top form. That latter situation is perfect for a city like San Francisco, where many of the downtown intersections pong of sewer, and several streets have their own idiosyncratic odours. Hang Ah Alley, for instance, last night reeked of riotous drunken excess meeting reality.
But in any case, I do not go around sniffing at the tender gender. It would be bad form to do so. As well as get me clobbered over the head.
But intellectually, I would indeed like to.
It sounds zesty and heroic.
In response to Cecily: Very likely candidates: Black Opium, by YSL. Paris, by YSL. Crystal Noir, by Versace. Perfumes with citrus and spices top notes, floral middle notes, wood or moss base notes. If it smells recognizably of coconut, candy, or Hello Kitty, it's right out.
Besides coconut, other smells to avoid are patchouli and almond, and an excess of vanilla.
Good, but not in excess: jasmine, cedar, rose.
Sandalwood can be nice too.
As an afterthought, crowded San Francisco buses are the worst place in the world for scents. If you are lucky, White Flower Lotion (白花油) and other analgesic balms on the old people in the front, with hints of body spray from the hunkus in the back; if unlucky, marijuana smoke, drug addict, unwashed Eury tourist, Hang Ah Alley, and Market Street.
Curry, plus Latakia and Virginia pipe tobaccos, always smell delightful. But not dumped all over the person as personal perfumes. And roasting or freshly brewed coffee in the morning also. Bacon too.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Well. It has been a very long time since I smelled a woman. Seeing as my faint whiff of tobacco and the fires of hell chases the poor dears away from me, and as a smoker my nose buds are not functioning at top form. That latter situation is perfect for a city like San Francisco, where many of the downtown intersections pong of sewer, and several streets have their own idiosyncratic odours. Hang Ah Alley, for instance, last night reeked of riotous drunken excess meeting reality.
But in any case, I do not go around sniffing at the tender gender. It would be bad form to do so. As well as get me clobbered over the head.
But intellectually, I would indeed like to.
It sounds zesty and heroic.
In response to Cecily: Very likely candidates: Black Opium, by YSL. Paris, by YSL. Crystal Noir, by Versace. Perfumes with citrus and spices top notes, floral middle notes, wood or moss base notes. If it smells recognizably of coconut, candy, or Hello Kitty, it's right out.
Besides coconut, other smells to avoid are patchouli and almond, and an excess of vanilla.
Good, but not in excess: jasmine, cedar, rose.
Sandalwood can be nice too.
As an afterthought, crowded San Francisco buses are the worst place in the world for scents. If you are lucky, White Flower Lotion (白花油) and other analgesic balms on the old people in the front, with hints of body spray from the hunkus in the back; if unlucky, marijuana smoke, drug addict, unwashed Eury tourist, Hang Ah Alley, and Market Street.
Curry, plus Latakia and Virginia pipe tobaccos, always smell delightful. But not dumped all over the person as personal perfumes. And roasting or freshly brewed coffee in the morning also. Bacon too.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
STEP AWAY FROM THE MICROPHONE!
As you know, once a week I head over to the edge of North Beach to commune with nature. As well as to observe drunks and people suffering dementia, and delusional behaviours. Stuff that reminds me why we need to summon the space ships to take us home. My friend the bookseller and myself have been doing this for several years now.
In my case, no alcohol is involved.
For him, it doesn't help.
Hamburger place, bar, karaoke joint.
Karaoke wasn't a thing back in the day. Lamentably, now it is. And white people have discovered it, giving new life to Elton John's oeuvre as well as John Denver, Emerson Lake and Palmer, Celine Dion, and The Eagles.
In addition to Michael Jackson, whom we hoped had been dead and forgotten a long time ago.
"I've had a long day and I hate Michael Jackson, man."
"Get out of my 'peace-loving' cab."
In all honesty, no one should sing karaoke. It's an opportunity for sensible people to step outside to smoke their pipes, and others to make spectacles of themselves. Tonight, the stupidest Chinese waiter in San Francisco was at the microphone. He's worse than Johnny's idiot little brother.
He really, really, really can't sing.
One of these days I may need to fight him for the microphone. I am a kind and altruistic man, and feel deeply for my fellow humans.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
In my case, no alcohol is involved.
For him, it doesn't help.
Hamburger place, bar, karaoke joint.
Karaoke wasn't a thing back in the day. Lamentably, now it is. And white people have discovered it, giving new life to Elton John's oeuvre as well as John Denver, Emerson Lake and Palmer, Celine Dion, and The Eagles.
In addition to Michael Jackson, whom we hoped had been dead and forgotten a long time ago.
"I've had a long day and I hate Michael Jackson, man."
"Get out of my 'peace-loving' cab."
In all honesty, no one should sing karaoke. It's an opportunity for sensible people to step outside to smoke their pipes, and others to make spectacles of themselves. Tonight, the stupidest Chinese waiter in San Francisco was at the microphone. He's worse than Johnny's idiot little brother.
He really, really, really can't sing.
One of these days I may need to fight him for the microphone. I am a kind and altruistic man, and feel deeply for my fellow humans.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, February 04, 2020
THEY'RE STILL SEARCHING
Two years after McClelland Tobacco shut down people are still desperate to find their products, or reasonable replacements. Which is a predictable development; I myself, had I known what was going to happen, might have stockpiled their stuff. More than I did.
I have not opened a tin of McClellands in probably thirty months.
Yet I have enough MC to smoke for four years.
Neener neener neener.
One pipe smoker I know, a remarkably stingy piece of work (a nice man), was desperate in those first few months, and picked my brain on the matter.
I steered him in what I thought would be the right direction, he was naturally disappointed with what he found, and thinks less of me in consequence.
And though I like him, I do not regret him fading from my circles.
Despite my immense affection for neurotic dickheads.
If you liked blends with heavily pressed red Virginia, you liked McClellands. But they are gone. Get over it. There are other tobaccos to put in your pipe, enjoyably, and even if your routine for the last ten centuries has been 5100 in your pipe while you dawdle over the Methodist Clarion and it's thoughtful editorials with half a pint of ale for three hours to the despair of the genial bar tender who puts up with you and your hogging the counter you remarkable cheap bastard, change is good.
If you cannot find something under the imprimatur of Samuel Gawith, Robert McConnell, Rattray, or Cornell & Diehl / Greg Pease that suits you, or goes well with a cup of strong Assam tea (stop drinking Whatney's Red Barrel, you pretendeur!), you are probably hopeless. Even Sutliff is trying to cater to you, and Scandinavian Tabak also has some fine products.
I personally find McConnell Red Virginia (tangy, fruity, faintest vanilla-like hint naturally occurring) more than passable, and Robert McConnell's Scottish Cake (Virginia, Kentucky, Perique) is also a fine product. Neither are, strictly speaking, my cup of tea, being much more of an aficionado of Elizabethan, Dunbar, and Dorchester, but both should keep you happily pissing off your bartender with your five feet of necessary counter space and one measely half pint of Auld Pretencion IPA in six hours during the busy part of the evening when sports is on the telly. And none of us civilized folks will have to run into you in Chinatown when we wander about smoking after a nice hot cup of Hong Kong Milk Tea and a delicious pastry.
Like my aunt, I find myself obsessing over delicious pastries.
Not as bad as when she came to San Francisco.
But never the less.
Pastries and vodka. Those were quests of hers.
She should' have smoked a pipe.
That's just a thought.
Go ahead; ensconce yourself.
Delicious pastries, mmmmmmmm!
Ran into a chap looking for 'Christmas Cheer' by McClelland the other day. He had a list of 'must try' tobaccos, but had no blessed clue that all of the McClelland oeuvre is damned hard to find now. They made a special blend for the holidays since 1992, different each year but all listed as Virginias, and avidly sought after. Unless, like me, you eschew special edition tobaccos.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
I have not opened a tin of McClellands in probably thirty months.
Yet I have enough MC to smoke for four years.
Neener neener neener.
One pipe smoker I know, a remarkably stingy piece of work (a nice man), was desperate in those first few months, and picked my brain on the matter.
I steered him in what I thought would be the right direction, he was naturally disappointed with what he found, and thinks less of me in consequence.
And though I like him, I do not regret him fading from my circles.
Despite my immense affection for neurotic dickheads.
If you liked blends with heavily pressed red Virginia, you liked McClellands. But they are gone. Get over it. There are other tobaccos to put in your pipe, enjoyably, and even if your routine for the last ten centuries has been 5100 in your pipe while you dawdle over the Methodist Clarion and it's thoughtful editorials with half a pint of ale for three hours to the despair of the genial bar tender who puts up with you and your hogging the counter you remarkable cheap bastard, change is good.
If you cannot find something under the imprimatur of Samuel Gawith, Robert McConnell, Rattray, or Cornell & Diehl / Greg Pease that suits you, or goes well with a cup of strong Assam tea (stop drinking Whatney's Red Barrel, you pretendeur!), you are probably hopeless. Even Sutliff is trying to cater to you, and Scandinavian Tabak also has some fine products.
I personally find McConnell Red Virginia (tangy, fruity, faintest vanilla-like hint naturally occurring) more than passable, and Robert McConnell's Scottish Cake (Virginia, Kentucky, Perique) is also a fine product. Neither are, strictly speaking, my cup of tea, being much more of an aficionado of Elizabethan, Dunbar, and Dorchester, but both should keep you happily pissing off your bartender with your five feet of necessary counter space and one measely half pint of Auld Pretencion IPA in six hours during the busy part of the evening when sports is on the telly. And none of us civilized folks will have to run into you in Chinatown when we wander about smoking after a nice hot cup of Hong Kong Milk Tea and a delicious pastry.
Like my aunt, I find myself obsessing over delicious pastries.
Not as bad as when she came to San Francisco.
But never the less.
Pastries and vodka. Those were quests of hers.
She should' have smoked a pipe.
That's just a thought.
Go ahead; ensconce yourself.
Delicious pastries, mmmmmmmm!
Ran into a chap looking for 'Christmas Cheer' by McClelland the other day. He had a list of 'must try' tobaccos, but had no blessed clue that all of the McClelland oeuvre is damned hard to find now. They made a special blend for the holidays since 1992, different each year but all listed as Virginias, and avidly sought after. Unless, like me, you eschew special edition tobaccos.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
VOLUPTUOUS FRAGRANCES
This blogger rejoices obsessively in finicky details and peculiar bits of knowledge. But not all the time. Which is why I did not realize untill mere moments ago the popular Hong Kong actress and singer Anita Mui (梅艷芳 'mui yim fong') is "voluptuous fragrance".
豔 variant 艷 ('yim'): sleek, sexy, voluptuous, gorgeous.
芳 ('fong'): fragrant, fragrance; virtuous, beauty.
That's twenty eight strokes. Bean is the radical under neath which you will find it in your handy dictionary. And surely you do have a handy dictionary? Everyone should have a (handy) dictionary, because correctly writting things is extremely important. Particularly the right order of strokes.
That same finicky obsessiveness explains why I spent several hours in the past week fussing with the stem of a pipe, as well as almost all evening yesterday fine-tuning the rims of two Kaywoodie smooth squat bulldogs from the fifties while my computer self-checked and rebooted.
On the other hand, my living quarters are a mess. My obsessiveness does not encompass excessive order. In the words of not just one stuffed animal, but several, "this place is a dump".
The obsessed finicker needs more space. Maintaining order requires room. Shelving. A series of lists, and a large work surface on which to arrange his things. As well as places for ashtrays and jars of tobacco. If I ever win the lottery, I'm renting the vacant apartment next door for a long table at which to read, several bookshelves, and a few nice old-fashioned draughting department cabinets. It will be a smoking room, more or less.
Neatly organized stacks of tobacco tins, arranged by date of purchase, category of blend, label theme, and voluptuous fragrance. A stockpile.
A section for the brushes and ink stones too. As well as scroll weights, seal carving equipment, and regular reference dictionaries.
And large coffee table art books.
I suppose I'll need to think about ventilation.
Better start drawing a schematic.
Making a list.
AFTER WORD
Appointment with the cardiologist later today, basically a follow-up on the procedure a year ago, as well as a review of my current condition. Which is that I feel fine. All piss and vinegar. He doesn't need to know that one of my medications is increasing an already extant tendency toward ocd and neurotic behaviours. To which I have adapted nicely.
I am more than I once was.
Which is good.
I shan't mention that side-effect to my coworkers or my apartment mate. They are all very patient people, but tend to be snide and sarcastic.
They really don't need more material.
Nor do I need that.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
豔 variant 艷 ('yim'): sleek, sexy, voluptuous, gorgeous.
芳 ('fong'): fragrant, fragrance; virtuous, beauty.
That's twenty eight strokes. Bean is the radical under neath which you will find it in your handy dictionary. And surely you do have a handy dictionary? Everyone should have a (handy) dictionary, because correctly writting things is extremely important. Particularly the right order of strokes.
That same finicky obsessiveness explains why I spent several hours in the past week fussing with the stem of a pipe, as well as almost all evening yesterday fine-tuning the rims of two Kaywoodie smooth squat bulldogs from the fifties while my computer self-checked and rebooted.
On the other hand, my living quarters are a mess. My obsessiveness does not encompass excessive order. In the words of not just one stuffed animal, but several, "this place is a dump".
The obsessed finicker needs more space. Maintaining order requires room. Shelving. A series of lists, and a large work surface on which to arrange his things. As well as places for ashtrays and jars of tobacco. If I ever win the lottery, I'm renting the vacant apartment next door for a long table at which to read, several bookshelves, and a few nice old-fashioned draughting department cabinets. It will be a smoking room, more or less.
Neatly organized stacks of tobacco tins, arranged by date of purchase, category of blend, label theme, and voluptuous fragrance. A stockpile.
A section for the brushes and ink stones too. As well as scroll weights, seal carving equipment, and regular reference dictionaries.
And large coffee table art books.
I suppose I'll need to think about ventilation.
Better start drawing a schematic.
Making a list.
AFTER WORD
Appointment with the cardiologist later today, basically a follow-up on the procedure a year ago, as well as a review of my current condition. Which is that I feel fine. All piss and vinegar. He doesn't need to know that one of my medications is increasing an already extant tendency toward ocd and neurotic behaviours. To which I have adapted nicely.
I am more than I once was.
Which is good.
I shan't mention that side-effect to my coworkers or my apartment mate. They are all very patient people, but tend to be snide and sarcastic.
They really don't need more material.
Nor do I need that.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Monday, February 03, 2020
A DISTANT PLACE
Woke up dreaming of Makati and Binondo. Of course, what with it being the middle of Winter here right now, those places could not be further away. Low forties here, fifty degrees warmer there. Places and people I haven't seen for years.
Words: Cubao, Pasay, Epifanio De Los Santos (Edsa), North Ong Pin Bridge, Mandaluyong, Marikina, Parañaque .....
Tastes: Pan de leche, coconut jam, kalamansi juice, vinegar, garlic .....
The heat, the humidity, and the traffic jams.
No, I do not miss the humidity or the traffic.
Or the expats.
The food, however, was spectacular. A good reason to go back sometime.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Words: Cubao, Pasay, Epifanio De Los Santos (Edsa), North Ong Pin Bridge, Mandaluyong, Marikina, Parañaque .....
Tastes: Pan de leche, coconut jam, kalamansi juice, vinegar, garlic .....
The heat, the humidity, and the traffic jams.
No, I do not miss the humidity or the traffic.
Or the expats.
The food, however, was spectacular. A good reason to go back sometime.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Sunday, February 02, 2020
SO, WHAT WAS ON TEEVEE TODAY?
The search for an excellent rendition of baked Portuguese chicken rice continues! At least at a place where the waitress did not/will not try to matchmake me with a friend of hers. Who may or may not have been charming and just right for me, but I'm inclined to doubt that a middle-aged white guy without real estate and a flourishing career of some sort, a pipe smoker besides, is just right for her. On that score I'm a pessimist. On the aforementioned Hong Kong style chicken dish, I'm an optimist.
[That was four years ago. I'm still scared to go there.]
Today's version lacked the over-the-top indulgence I require.
It was good, but the curry sauce could have had coconut milk, the dish would have benefited from potato chunks and or chopped bells, and the rice base should've been egg-fried. And a strewing of cheese on top to melt under the broiler is essential.
[Baked Portuguese chicken rice: 焗葡國雞飯 ('guk pou gwok gai faan'); a portion of eggy fried rice with a mild chicken curry over it, and shredded cheese on top, baked under the broiler till bubbly. Invented in Hong Kong, loosely based on a Maccanese chicken dish. Really should also contain onion and chouriço. Great with Sriracha Sauce, or sambal blachang.]
In short, the best baked Portuguese chicken rice is perfect cold-weather food, a heart attack on a plate, and something to give my doctor and the nutritionist at Chinese Hospital nightmares.
It was okay, though. I enjoyed my lunch, and also the pipes I smoked afterwards. All of the women working there in early afternoon are people whom I know, Anna is finally back from her long trip to her home town.
At least I think that's where she went.
They do a booming lunch.
I paid and left once I knew which way the drums and dancing lion were going in their quest to get money for chasing away bad luck. Didn't want to be anywhere near the noise. They moved up the street, I went down.
An aged Virginia mixture on the edge of Portsmouth Square, smoked in two lovely bulldogs by American pipe companies, with a pause in between for HK Milk Tea and a lo po bing fresh out of the oven at the Hollywood. Chinatown on Superbowl Sunday was busy, but hardly any tourists.
Three people asked where they might be able to watch the game.
I suggested Red's Place on the corner of Jackson and Becket Street, opposite the New Lun Ting. After having tea and a pastry I passed by and looked in. Didn't see them; they might've been hiding in a corner.
Finished the second smoke at the corner of Kearney and Clay.
A fully packed bus took me back home.
It is going to be easier to find perfect Portuguese chicken rice than a girlfriend. I already know this. I am a realist.
AFTER THOUGHT
It is still too beastly cold in SF at this time. My right knee is far worse in this weather, and frigid winds are depressing, especially when one must be outdoors. Fortunately it was sunny. My internal monologue works overtime when I'm wandering around and freezing .
"Goeie hemel, da's een groot achtereind! Arm ding! That little girl there must be boiling with energy if she's comfortable wearing shorts in this weather. Oh, they've gone out of business, sad. This is where Ten Ren used to be, what is it now? Jayzus that's an overbite, he's possibly inbred, sounds it too. Great paint job on that car, dude, eye-catching. Tee-shirt!??! She's mentioned that that man is an idiot three times, oh, that's the fourth time. Cute little old woman, facemask, those leggings are jes' not right!
No, I should not stroke her purse thoughtfully and remark on the silky feeling human dermis-like surface, she'd think I'm a pervert."
It's good that it remains inside.
Excellent tobacco.
It sings.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
[That was four years ago. I'm still scared to go there.]
Today's version lacked the over-the-top indulgence I require.
It was good, but the curry sauce could have had coconut milk, the dish would have benefited from potato chunks and or chopped bells, and the rice base should've been egg-fried. And a strewing of cheese on top to melt under the broiler is essential.
[Baked Portuguese chicken rice: 焗葡國雞飯 ('guk pou gwok gai faan'); a portion of eggy fried rice with a mild chicken curry over it, and shredded cheese on top, baked under the broiler till bubbly. Invented in Hong Kong, loosely based on a Maccanese chicken dish. Really should also contain onion and chouriço. Great with Sriracha Sauce, or sambal blachang.]
In short, the best baked Portuguese chicken rice is perfect cold-weather food, a heart attack on a plate, and something to give my doctor and the nutritionist at Chinese Hospital nightmares.
It was okay, though. I enjoyed my lunch, and also the pipes I smoked afterwards. All of the women working there in early afternoon are people whom I know, Anna is finally back from her long trip to her home town.
At least I think that's where she went.
They do a booming lunch.
I paid and left once I knew which way the drums and dancing lion were going in their quest to get money for chasing away bad luck. Didn't want to be anywhere near the noise. They moved up the street, I went down.
An aged Virginia mixture on the edge of Portsmouth Square, smoked in two lovely bulldogs by American pipe companies, with a pause in between for HK Milk Tea and a lo po bing fresh out of the oven at the Hollywood. Chinatown on Superbowl Sunday was busy, but hardly any tourists.
Three people asked where they might be able to watch the game.
I suggested Red's Place on the corner of Jackson and Becket Street, opposite the New Lun Ting. After having tea and a pastry I passed by and looked in. Didn't see them; they might've been hiding in a corner.
Finished the second smoke at the corner of Kearney and Clay.
A fully packed bus took me back home.
It is going to be easier to find perfect Portuguese chicken rice than a girlfriend. I already know this. I am a realist.
AFTER THOUGHT
It is still too beastly cold in SF at this time. My right knee is far worse in this weather, and frigid winds are depressing, especially when one must be outdoors. Fortunately it was sunny. My internal monologue works overtime when I'm wandering around and freezing .
"Goeie hemel, da's een groot achtereind! Arm ding! That little girl there must be boiling with energy if she's comfortable wearing shorts in this weather. Oh, they've gone out of business, sad. This is where Ten Ren used to be, what is it now? Jayzus that's an overbite, he's possibly inbred, sounds it too. Great paint job on that car, dude, eye-catching. Tee-shirt!??! She's mentioned that that man is an idiot three times, oh, that's the fourth time. Cute little old woman, facemask, those leggings are jes' not right!
No, I should not stroke her purse thoughtfully and remark on the silky feeling human dermis-like surface, she'd think I'm a pervert."
It's good that it remains inside.
Excellent tobacco.
It sings.
TOBACCO INDEX
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NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
THAT LOOK!
While the seasonal cold makes life miserable, it appears that the extreme frigidity is lessening, and warmer weather returning. Which can be defined as above 53 degrees Fahrenheit. Below fifty-two degrees and Raynaud's phenomenon becomes an issue. For all normal people.
Of which I am one.
Spring. Growing things. Little flowers.
Butterflies and stuff.
Birdies.
Over in suburbia, one additional thing.
That which can never be unseen.
Pasty middle-aged dudes in cargo shorts.
"when i "outgrew" all my jeans like 10 years ago i just bought 3 pairs of "cargo pants" in my new size. they're all slightly different colors and i rotate them, but i'm pretty sure everyone thinks i only have one pair of trousers. no big deal, i'm not pretending to be mr. rich and fashionable. cargo pants are super cheap here, everyone wears them. like whatevs."
Trust me, dude, worst look in the world.
Damned vegetarian.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Of which I am one.
Spring. Growing things. Little flowers.
Butterflies and stuff.
Birdies.
Over in suburbia, one additional thing.
That which can never be unseen.
Pasty middle-aged dudes in cargo shorts.
"when i "outgrew" all my jeans like 10 years ago i just bought 3 pairs of "cargo pants" in my new size. they're all slightly different colors and i rotate them, but i'm pretty sure everyone thinks i only have one pair of trousers. no big deal, i'm not pretending to be mr. rich and fashionable. cargo pants are super cheap here, everyone wears them. like whatevs."
Trust me, dude, worst look in the world.
Damned vegetarian.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
HOW WAS THE GAME?
My deep-seated urge to irritate sports fans takes a back seat today as the Santa Clara team plays a team from Kansas. In fact, I won't even be at work, but at a restaurant having a nice quiet lunch. The best team will win, and the local fans will set fire to a Muni bus in drunken outrage.
The wait-staff at the place where I'll be eating are all women. No, I'm not going there to find a girlfriend. I like the food, and I know that it will be peaceful. I'm thinking something tasty that would probably horrify my doctor, which will go well with both Sriracha hotsauce and a cup of strong milk tea.
Afterwards I'll wander around Chinatown smoking my pipe.
The streets of the city will be quiet, hardly any traffic, few people around, almost no tourists. It will be perfect.
When I go in to work on Monday, I will be fully prepared to state that it was the best game ever, how sad that your team didn't win, but honestly, they just weren't very good this year, and kind of totally sucked.
I will say "there there", in commiseration.
With every pretense of sincerity.
The only reason to be in a place where everyone is watching the game is the pizza. Almost no one will be paying attention to the pizza.
I am not that fond of pizza.
I might even have TWO cups of milk-tea.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
The wait-staff at the place where I'll be eating are all women. No, I'm not going there to find a girlfriend. I like the food, and I know that it will be peaceful. I'm thinking something tasty that would probably horrify my doctor, which will go well with both Sriracha hotsauce and a cup of strong milk tea.
Afterwards I'll wander around Chinatown smoking my pipe.
The streets of the city will be quiet, hardly any traffic, few people around, almost no tourists. It will be perfect.
When I go in to work on Monday, I will be fully prepared to state that it was the best game ever, how sad that your team didn't win, but honestly, they just weren't very good this year, and kind of totally sucked.
I will say "there there", in commiseration.
With every pretense of sincerity.
The only reason to be in a place where everyone is watching the game is the pizza. Almost no one will be paying attention to the pizza.
I am not that fond of pizza.
I might even have TWO cups of milk-tea.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Saturday, February 01, 2020
SMELLING LIKE VICTORY
A friend who is a cigar smoker recently mentioned that he too is now taking statins. Which, as every midde-aged reader of this blog knows, keep your blood cholesterol in check -- a preventive measure -- and will thus prevent plugged up arteries and such like. It's prophylactic. According to a Parsee friend, they also make you fart. Of course she eats more beans and lentils than most people (it's an Indian thing), so might benefit from more yoghurt .....
Which I shall mention to her the next time I see her.
Despite her vast experience with statins, she has an active social life.
Mine is far less lively. Other than conversing with cigar smokers, I hang out in Chinatown a lot on my days off pretending to be a vegetable.
As almost any discussion of medication would, this brought up Chinatown and HK eating habits. My medical history is tied in to that neighborhood, because the pharmacy where I got my refills recently is located there, as is my regular care physician, likewise the restaurants and bakeries where I go for lunch and late afternoon tea, especially after medical appointments.
When I smoke my pipe of an afternoon, I am also usually in that area. Unfortunately there are no indoor smoking environments there -- to the great joy of glandered puritanical anti-smoking types everywhere -- so like many people I smoke outdoors, on the street, under convenient awnings, or near schools, healthcare facilities, and childrens' playgrounds.
Even in inclement weather.
So far, no one has complained. Everyone in that neighborhood has relatives who smoke, or themselves are the relatives who smoke. And risk pneumonia by doing so outdoors in the cold and wet. Because we'd rather die while still enjoying life than listen to the venomous harpies who begrudge us our health and small pleasures.
Which also explains the plethora of unhealthy foods so widely available there. Roast pork, duck, baked spaghetti with porkchops and cheese, HK French toast, pineapple buns toasted with butter melting inside, sweet egg waffles, rich cream buns, fatty pork with salt fish, egg tarts ...... And that, in turn, suggests that statin use is common, among the older people especially.
I'm looking forward to my next off day.
I hope it doesn't rain.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Which I shall mention to her the next time I see her.
Despite her vast experience with statins, she has an active social life.
Mine is far less lively. Other than conversing with cigar smokers, I hang out in Chinatown a lot on my days off pretending to be a vegetable.
As almost any discussion of medication would, this brought up Chinatown and HK eating habits. My medical history is tied in to that neighborhood, because the pharmacy where I got my refills recently is located there, as is my regular care physician, likewise the restaurants and bakeries where I go for lunch and late afternoon tea, especially after medical appointments.
When I smoke my pipe of an afternoon, I am also usually in that area. Unfortunately there are no indoor smoking environments there -- to the great joy of glandered puritanical anti-smoking types everywhere -- so like many people I smoke outdoors, on the street, under convenient awnings, or near schools, healthcare facilities, and childrens' playgrounds.
Even in inclement weather.
So far, no one has complained. Everyone in that neighborhood has relatives who smoke, or themselves are the relatives who smoke. And risk pneumonia by doing so outdoors in the cold and wet. Because we'd rather die while still enjoying life than listen to the venomous harpies who begrudge us our health and small pleasures.
Which also explains the plethora of unhealthy foods so widely available there. Roast pork, duck, baked spaghetti with porkchops and cheese, HK French toast, pineapple buns toasted with butter melting inside, sweet egg waffles, rich cream buns, fatty pork with salt fish, egg tarts ...... And that, in turn, suggests that statin use is common, among the older people especially.
I'm looking forward to my next off day.
I hope it doesn't rain.
==========================================================================
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,...
