Monday, January 10, 2022

NO, NOT ERINMORE

Thomas in Marin, who had been interned at Stanley Fort (赤柱炮台 'chek chyu baau toi') during the war, was one of the last smokers of Erinmore Flake whom I knew. Old Skeleton (老骷髏 'lou fu lau') in Hong Kong was one of the first people I remember stating, categorically, that he liked Erinmore Flake. That was at a time when I myself had not re-explored the product, and could very well remember that it made me sick twice, in my teenage years.

[Stanley Fort: at various times home to the Royal Regiment of Wales, The Queen's Royal Surrey Regiment, the Black Watch (Royal Highland Regiment), the Royal Navy, the Royal Hong Kong Regiment, the 27th. Heavy Regiment, various Gurkha battalions, and a whole slew of Scottish and Indian units. Stanley is located at the southern tip of the island.]


Thomas did not have any sandblasted pipes. Old Skeleton had only sandblasted pipes.
To his mind, that was the only type fitting a military man.

So the pipe below would have appealled to him, and I remember him smoking similar briars.
The proprietor of Telford's gave this pipe to me recently, and through a twisted chain of association naturally I remembered both of the gentlemen mentioned, but I shall not smoke Erinmore Flake in it. Not because it would be heresy, but because I have no wish to open another tin of Erinmore from my stash of pre-Orlik product. Yet.

Old Skeleton used to say that you couldn't get a decent cup of tea in Hong Kong. "These people invented tea, but hardly know how to make it. Same as the French who invented chips (French Fries) and won't do a decent bag of 'em if their lives depend on it, and the Scots, who can't make a decent haggis, which stands to reason because the blasted thing is inedible."


I might agree on the haggis. Possibly also the fries, because the Dutch and the Belgians cook better than the French, especially when it comes to deep fat. But I had an excellent cup of milk tea in Chinatown today, at a sparsely populated place, and enjoyed my smoke afterwards.

No, not Erinmore. Something more Scottish, by Greg Pease.
Twilight was gorgeous. That reflected golden light.
You could see downtown buildings glowing.


I have several sandblasts, and a year's worth of the old Murray's products.
Both Thomas and Old Skeleton are sadly no longer with us.
Old Skeleton passed a decade after the handover.
Thomas three years ago.



TOBACCO INDEX


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Sunday, January 09, 2022

YEAH, UM, TEAM!

So the Forty Niners did something stupendous today, judging by the senile delinquents in the back room losing their sanity in front of the television. I really should be concerned about one of them -- the retired member of the judicial branch, who very likely soiled himself in his joy -- but not only do I not care about sports, I also don't care about football. Which is quite un-American of me, I know. A score of hunkadunks running around the field crashing into each other does not make me cream in my undies, I'm sorry, and unlike you lot I wear normal boxer shorts instead of man-panties, which I try to keep as clean as possible, which means NOT clenching everytime the "numerics" do something absofantabulous. Unlike the dozen of you.

You all American sports fans are bonkers.
Quite utterly nuts.

Now if they were making duck confit and Crêpes Suzette on that field, with deft and dextrous manipulation of their batteries de cuisine, then I might cheer. I would evince a sincere interest.
Unless and until that happens, I shall remain steadfastly unmoved by and uninvolved in your goofy brawn-porn extravaganza.

Instead, I am calm, peevish, and at a safe distance.
Your enthusiasms do not invite me.
And furthermore, I'll have another cup of tea, and nibble on another slice of this congealed Texan (fruitcake), which is actually quite delicious. I am safely far enough away that there is no chance of you tipping over my cup. Occasionally I'll yell "Minnesoooota!", even though neither team is from there, because I know it annoys some of you, or maybe make a glib remark about how a state that has cheese, lutefisk, and manly men who freeze their testicles off while playing football represents everything true and beautiful about American maleness and how can you not like them you bunch of silly wine-drinking hot tub splashing soft elderly wankers of Marin County, but for all intents and purposes I cannot wait for you lot to all have aneurisms from the excitement and go home to your long-suffering wives or retirement homes.



In other news, I enjoyed three bowls of Greg Pease's Embarcadero in my briars today. A lovely compound of Red Virginia and Smyrna, in partially broken flake form, with enough complexity that it appeals all the way down to the bottom of the bowl. A very charming pipe tobacco.
Of which I have a few extra tins.

A good day, despite the racket from the play area.



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WE'RE WATCHING YOU

Pills, coffee, news. And social media. That last exposes me to things which are new and odd, which lets me know not everyone my age is a middle-aged Dutch American with arthritis and early morning grumpiness. Something which, intellectually, I already knew, but it's good to have reality hit one in the face regularly.
Especially when the apartment mate is sleeping in, and will not be the primary example of someone not being a middle aged Dutch American bla bla bla for a few hours, by which time I'll be at work.

Naturally, not all of my Facebook friends are pipe smokers.

Some of them are quite different from me.

In non-creepy ways.


Statistically, at least one of them has to be a space alien.




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Saturday, January 08, 2022

TAKE A LOT, PREVENTATIVELY

Opinion: In an abundance of caution, the Republican Party should make hydroxychloroquine and ivermectin freely available to all of its members. Because studies have shown that they are peculiarly subject to Malaria and intestinal parasites -- like in the movie 'Alien' -- and must be purged.

Also, viagra. The Republicans believe that viagra alleviates covid. So, if you see someone with a painful and dangerous erection in your emergency room, get the hell out of the way. It's an infected rightwinger.

Might take a bonesaw to get him into his coffin.



The idea of many thousands of yutzes in the Christian heartland taking massive doses of viagra at the first sign of a cold is both entertaining and disturbing.



That, and the essential oils.



This essay does NOT have an illustration.
The ommission is deliberate.




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Friday, January 07, 2022

A SILHOUETTE AT THE EDGE OF MY MIND'S EYE

One of the images that many Dutchmen have in their subconscious is of an Indonesian woman husking padi, which starts with pounding the grains, after which a winnowing basket is used to get rid of the chaff. A big stone mortar, and a large long pestle-like pounder. A common sight in the former colonies, an image for any number of things but famously a brand of Indonesian spice preparations and condiments sold all over the Netherlands. In actuality, you will never observe the process in the country. Rice is not grown there.

That image might remind one of the character zhou (周) in seal script.
There is little relationship between such an interpretation of that character and what it means; circuit, round, cyclical, or to aid or assist financially.

It's also a surname and the name of a dynasty.

The Zhou did have, unsurprisingly, an aggrarian connection or connotation in their history. And, if you think about it, the heavy stone mortar for pounding grains to loosen their husks is a pretty solid marker of setlement and a fixed abode, as well as a home or family.

The Chinese semi-literate Dutchman will also think of millet. The Zhou were hereditarily 'Lords of Millet' ( 后稷 'hau jik'). Millet is a temperate zone grain, a crop probably first cultivated in China, called variously 小米 ('siu mai'), 糜 ('mei'), 蘼 ('mei'), 粢 ('ji').

Which is somewhat beside the point; I have not been exposed to millet.



小米蛋糕 ('siu mai daan gou'; millet cakes) are not common here.
That's a North China phenomenon.




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Thursday, January 06, 2022

CAFFEINE, NICOTINE, AND A DISACCHARIDE OF SUCROSE AND GLUCOSE

As Stephan Pastis wisely point out, what we need now, as adults, are bed, coffee, and pizza. That, in essence, is what life is all about. Bed, coffee, and pizza.
Warm reclining comfort, hot caffeinated beverages, and tasty bread-like substance with melted cheese and tomato residue. If a political candidate were to promise a steady supply of these things we'd vote for her. Or him.

I remain disappointed that these are not political goals.


If I run for office, my campaign headquarters will be inside a pizzeria with a coffee machine and a matress. And a refrigerator, because tomato residue and hot sauce need to be stored properly, as does unused cheese, and dairy liquid for the coffee.

Well okay, four things. Five.

Plus pipe tobacco.


Rice, fish, and sambal, plus strong milk tea, are a moral and karmic equivalent of bed, coffee, and pizza. Except for the bed; just imagine it. Smoked a pipe and got all my shopping done afterwards.

And I didn't frighten any children or old people.
That's a good thing too.



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MEDICATE THEM

One year ago today a whole lot of Bart and Homer rioted in Washington, trying to subvert an election. Like all normal people, I was at home watching events on the internet, appalled at what was happening. Since then, the republicans have claimed it never happened, it was just tourists, it was justified, and their god ordered it who were they to disobey divine command?


As Ellen Lee Zhou, candidate for mayor of San Francisco, says:
"Many of the people in America still asleep! Some of the evil politicians & movie stars have already in Gitmo or executed! Against humanity! Please pray for unborn babies, wicked politicians, victims from sex/human/drug trafficking! Hold the line! Trump will be back soon! Pray!"
------Ellen Lee Zhou on Twitter, May 21, 2021.


Well okily dokily, neighborino. Qanon much?

[Ellen Lee Zhou: a prominent pro-gun Republican, and member of the 'Chinese American Alliance for Trump'.]


No, this essay is not going to be about a local rightwing religious whackjob and her soiled knickers. Enough embarassing stuff has been said about her already. In a wise and just universe she would be medicated to the eyebrows.

As would they all.


I do not plan to celebrate the ignominious downfall of Trump or the failure of his attempted coup and the arrest of his conspirators in any way. At work over the next few days I may gloat, if the senile neo-fascist farts in the backroom grieve, or I might not. I have largely given up on considering them part of the same species.

"Supporters of a delusional voted-out hack"

Instead, I will just suggest that, in an abundance of caution, the Republican Party should make hydroxychloroquine and ivermectin freely available to all of its members. Because studies have shown that Republicans are peculiarly subject to Malaria and intestinal parasites -- like in the movie 'Alien' -- and must be purged.



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Wednesday, January 05, 2022

THE RAVINE OF YELLOW BAMBOO

He graduated sometime in the seventies, and after over three decades retired from the force. Whereupon he emigrated to the United States (several relatives already lived here), because Hong Kong had changed. Change is good. Except when it isn't.

For many years he had been stationed in Yaumatei, near Canton Road, north of the park.
There was a noodle restaurant near Lai Chi Kok and Portland Street he liked, as well as one on Sai Yee Street. But when time permitted, he'd go to a chachanteng for a baked dish. When he was growing up chachantengs were rare, but what preceded them as a place for tea with milk and HK Western food was the ping sat (冰室). Cold frothy drinks, red bean floats, shave ice with mixed fruits or pineapple or boiled lotus seeds, and cheap snack food. The chachanteng would focus more on strong milk tea, real meals at affordable prices, less ice or ice cream.
At a chachanteng one could sit for hours reading the papers.
Hepped to the eye brows on tea.

This all came out during conversations in which I mentioned going to Ping Yuen on Jackson Street in the late eighties, multiple newspapers and cups of coffee, and a pastry or a slice of pie, after work. It sounded relatable. What a pity Ping Yuen no longer exists! Chachanteng are not common in San Francisco, ping sats are quite unknown. I think he would be pleased at some of the current business in C'town. There's a place on the corner of Washington and Grant, another at Grant and Broadway, that he might like.
But of course things have changed.


He had grown up on the island, and didn't even go to Kowloon until his last year of high school. After passing out (graduating) he moved there. It was a different world. As a kid he didn't even visit the southern side of Hong Kong. Why would he? No reason.
The police college is there, in an area with clear breezes from the South China Sea.

黃竹坑 ('wong juk haang'; Staunton Valley, or Wong Chuk Hang, on the southern side of Hong Kong Island). 黃竹坑舊圍 ('wong juk haang kau wai'; Yellow Bamboo Ravine old settlement) the fortified village which was the original 'Hong Kong', formerly known as (香港村 'heung gong chuen'). A new fortified village was built in the 1860's and 70's nearby. The fragrance in the harbour of the name refers to sandalwood and gaharu, material for incense.
An area with sunlight. More often than you might think. Also largely exposed during typhoons, which usually come in from south or south-east, May to the end of October.
There are many more Pizza Huts and 7-elevens in Hong Kong nowadays that ping sats or chachantengs. It's a younger hipper place than it was, far more worldly.

There is an actual 'ping sat' in Brooklyn, but that's a bit far from here. And there aren't many other reasons to visit New York, so perhaps we'll backburner that for future consideration. Red bean shave ice has become more common here in recent years, part of the boba tea thing. Given that I prefer my red beans as a finely ground marzipan like substance baked within layers of pastry, and find boba less than divine, I haven't explored the phenomenon.

There's alway Metro Hong Kong Desserts (地鐵站奶茶) on Stockton Street.
A place I occasionally go to for a cup of HK milk tea.
As close to a ping sat as there is.


ADDENDUM AT 20:08

A Police College passing out parade would often have the band playing Highland Cathedral.
Plus, at the end, as quick marches (120 steps per minute more or less) Old Lang Syne and We're No Awa Tae Bide Awa, on bagpipes. I know this because 'reasons'.
Other tunes: Happy Wanderer, South Down Militia.
Liberty Bell, Pentland Hills.




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AVOIDING THE KWAILO

A late lunch at a familiar place after dodging the maskless morons from out of state (or the suburbs) on Grant Avenue, and taking the second bus because there were fewer passengers. There have been over two million confirmed cases of covid since Sunday, and some idiots still think it's not something they need to worry about.
Which is okay. If, after more than 20 months of the pandemic, there are people who through their own stupidity, catch it and croak, it's their own affair. I'm fine with that.
Many of the idiots appear to be white.

That's just a coincidence, yes?


There were only two other eat in customers at that hour. The busy time there is mid-morning to mid-afternoon. Such emptiness was what I was counting on. Their food is decent, the place is clean, the lighting and the ambience (such as it is) suit me, there is a jar of sambal on each table, and the staff there is very considerate and friendly toward me.


三菇雞球飯

Sautéed chicken and three types of mushrooms over rice ('saam gu gai kau faan'). A medley of fungi stirfried and sauced. They also do porkchops and beef dishes, plus a great selection of fried or in-soup noodles. And there are, to the best of my knowledge, few or no other Caucasians who go there, not even the tourists.

Which is a change from two years ago when white tourists asking about spring rolls or charsiu buns were all over Chinatown. That being the two items they know about. Spring rolls, charsiu buns, shrimp fried rice, and sweet and sour pork -- or General Tso's whatsit and kung pao whatever -- are a veritable feast. Ex-quise!

The pipe afterwards took me through alleys. It was late and cold, closer to dinner time. There were no maskless morons to impede my progress or complain about the smoke. Dark and shadow alternating with patches of light added a Miyazaki-esque charm to the walk.


My working days are when I have to deal with my fellow whites. On my days off I really don't want to see them. Especially not their big fat free ranging noses, unmasked.



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THE EPIPHANIES

Sadly, not everyone taking public transit understands that if their nose is not covered, their mask is not doing any good. Many of my fellow humans appear to be "special". Are we sure that all of us are, in fact, the same species? Or that the Cro Magnons are extinct?
Maybe there has been more inbreeding than we are aware of.

Despite the evidence that some of my alleged fellow humans are intellectually from the dank side of the country, I enjoyed my Tuesday evening out. Because there were so few people at any of the places to which we went.

["The dank side of the country": Also known as the shithole states. Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Colorado, Florida, Georgia, Idaho, Indiana, Louisiana, Massachusetts, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, North Carolina, North Dakota, Ohio, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, South Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Virginia, West Virginia, and Wyoming.]


Everyone worthwhile has survived the holidays. That being the two gentlemen who work at the hamburger joint, the doorguard and counterman at the Bohemian dive, and the lady who owns the Chinatown bar that was our final stop. It was the customary once a week crawl.
Both the bookseller and I have also survived.

Sudden insight: when I was a kid all the Beatles and Stones were still alive.

No, I don't suddenly feel old. Why do you ask?
THE PIPE FOR WATCHING RATS IN SPOFFORD ALLEY
Enjoying some tobacco frequently precedes the North Beach crawl.

Other sudden insight: many of the videos that Andy Lau Tak-wah (劉德華) made in the past two decades are things of which he should be ashamed. The lollipop song. The space alien helium voice duet. Stuff with weird hair. And many more.

Fortunately the crazy white slags had already left by the time we got to the karaoke place, other than an elderly gay couple getting smashed on what I think were Martini's. And they weren't singing. We were the only white people there. Caucasians and karaoke are a bad combination. Worse than Lau Tak-wah and karaoke.
Let's call that the lost years.

Maybe he was an alcoholic or zoned-out drugrat during that period? Surely those videos qualify as self-destructive acts. Much like me singing 'All My Exes Live In Texas' or that Teresa Teng song nearly two decades ago, and thank providence there are no clips of that.
Or of the time I participated in a Gangnam Style dance-off.

In case you were wondering, it wasn't drugs that made me do that; it was a surfeit of caffeine, and youthful high spirits.


If there's no tape, it doesn't count.
No regrets.


Lau Tak-wah is a different story. His music videos will live forever.


Sad.



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Tuesday, January 04, 2022

NORTH POINT

Barely a year after it was finished in 1966, the police stormed the building and flushed out bomb factories and a communist revolutionary emergency hospital set up to deal with combat wounds during the riots. 1967 was a turbulent year in Hong Kong, mainly because of mass psychosis across the border. The Kiu Kwan Manion(s) highrise was at the heart of it. Because the tactics of the rioters involved bloodshed and mayhem, the public turned against them. The deaths of children and a popular radio commentator did not help their cause; the assasination of the latter by what was widely reported as a death squad probably put paid to it entirely.

Notoriously, Fujianese refugees who were long-time residents of Hong Kong were heavily involved in sowing discord, making explosive devices, and plotting against the authorities.
One could suspect an enduring pro-Peking slant among that group, given their damned well criminal activities during recent years.

At one point the commander of the garrison across the border (黄永胜 'wong wing sing') seriously suggested invading the Crown Colony, having by that time organized succesful massacres in Guantung and Guangsi. His plans were foiled at the highest level.
He was purged in 1971, put on trial for various offenses in 1980.
He was released from prison, and died in 1983.
Kiu Kwan Mansion at 395 King's Road, North Point, Hong Kong.

The riots came to an end when Peking ordered their cessation. Cooler heads prevailed at the top levels, and the insanity faded. The bombing campaign by red thugs achieved nothing.

From May until October there had been turmoil.


For nearly fifty years a Fujianese Department store (華豐國貨有限公司 'waa fung gwok fo yau haan gong si') has occupied the bottom two floors in the building.


North Point (北角 'paak gok') has for several decades had a large population of Shanghainese and Fujianese, and even today there are numerous speakers of Minnan there.
It's an interesting and diverse place.

Very bourgeois.




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LEVITATING TURTLE

Apparently, while I was at work on Sunday, my apartment mate attempted to watch a Gamera movie, but had to switch it off because it was frightful poofle. Gamera LOVES children. Maybe it's the soft centres. Giant flying nuclear turtle flies around loving the kiddie-winkies, man, that just sounds skeevy right off the top. In teensie fey voices.


"They taste like crunchy frog!"



Her assertion, not mine. I hold by the soft gooey centres. And, just like I look askance at Santa ("hey kid, come sit on my lap") I automatically assume that there must be something extremely dubious, downright religious man of god like, about the whole business.
Who the heck comes up with perverted crap like this?
We can blame my people (the Dutch Americans) for part of Santa, the English for the rest.
With hints of Odin, so the Norse also had a hand in the crimson degenerate.
All of Northern Europe, really.

Gamera is reptilian Santa. Larger, fiercer, and likely to set off Geiger counters from here to Timbuktoo. A mutant Santa for the Cold War Era.

Unwholesome shiznit.



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Monday, January 03, 2022

NEVER DO THIS!

Searching for dental insurance options, last week I put my name, e-mail address, and phone number into an on-line form that looked legitimately like something from the State of California. And at this point I wish to slaughter EVERY. SINGLE. INSURANCE. COMPANY. The phone has not stopped ringing. There are HUNDREDS of pushy Filippinas who all have the same script. When I ask whether this is strictly related to dental coverage only, she responds with "that's a good question, we have ways to save you money, do you currently have medical insurance...." To which, naturally, my response is to hang up the phone.

Kindly note to insurance companies, brokers, and insurance agents: Please stop hiring those women. Thank you very much. They're preprogrammed to NOT answer the questions people ask, but to go through their damned scripts no matter what.

Note to everyone else: avoid insurance companies, brokers, and insurance agents.
They're a pestilence upon the land.


At this point, I never wish to speak to someone with a Pinay accent again.


Last time one of them called, I had a mouth full of chicken, ampalaya, and pancit. With sambal, of course, because I'm Dutch. And fish sauce. I did not let it in any way spoil the overwhelming deliciousness of a late lunch prepared at home, but politely informed the person that I was hanging up the phone. The reason I ate at home was the bus didn't come and it had started to rain. I suspect that too many municipal transportation employees are out with Omicron. Which will mean an even greater chance of getting sick on public transit than ever before -- drivers without symptoms, passengers without brains or consideration -- and at so late an hour in the afternoon on a wet day travelling in close contact with many people who smell like wet dog with a layer of Aramis or 'Seduction For Hello Kitty' lacks a certain, shall we say, appeal.

Three of those phone calls while eating. Godverdomme!

Finishing lunch with a cup of milk tea.

Then off into the cold with a thick overcoat, pipe and an umbrella to scare little children.
Perhaps wrestle imaginary polar bears.

If any Filippina insurance company call center phone-drones were insulted by the rant above, good! Your mother was a hamster and your father smelled of elderberies!

You are all either Imelda, Corazon, or Doña Buding.



AFTER WORD

No kalamansi. Substituted lemon. Not as good.




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DON'T LOOK BEHIND

Far too many people in this country (and probably everywhere else) are inclined towards scepticism of science. That, largely, accounts for essential oils, vaccine-distrust, general goofiness, religion, and the Republican Party. Even the cigar-chomping senile malcontents in the back room, who are mostly hard-nosed about certain things -- and all of them have been vaccinated and boostered -- regularly drop statements indicative of sneering stupid-ass ignorant ideas.

[Senile malcontent: a geezer who would be a senile-delinquent (concept) except that they all pay taxes and respect the police, so much so that they would rather someone else flaunt the laws and challenge the status-quo.
They have too much to lose, and the system works for them. Mostly.]



Self-flatteringly I consider myself different. I'm comfortable with scientific conclusions. Especially about modern medicine, gravity, and evolution. Data-laden texts are not frightening to me -- often boring, yes -- and my reading matter in early childhood included text books and informative overviews about biology, chemistry, physics, and how to build your own radio, telescope, or camera. The engineering and scientific encyclopedia that my father kept in the room at the back of the building provided hours of fascinated reading into my early teens, as did books about the bomb and the space program.

So, while I am NOT a scientist and also not an engineer or doctor, I am reasonably familiar with that mental environment. And intolerant of alternative medicine, popular diets, and almost all religious beliefs that mention all-knowing all-caring divine beings. I can probably tell you more about Christianity, Judaism, Islam, and Hinduism in a condescending way than you ever wanted to hear.
Several people I know have "done their own research". Which I wish they would not have done. It took them down rabbit holes where their lack of exposure or rationality entirely sabotaged the endeavor. Their statments about The Deity, or the Deities, ancient aliens, the medical values of turmeric, ginger, cayenne pepper (strangely they skipped over magic cow poo and urine), vaccine nano-chips, statistics, the Van Allen Belts, Ur and Sumer, ghostly entities, spirits, and reincarnation, and various other matters where they have words but no sense, are complete and utter horse pucky.

If it is not observable, measurable, or quantifiable, it does not exist.
Ivermectin, hydroxychloroquine, and apple cider vinegar do not do what people think they do. Prayers on behalf of dying people, or copying and posting pictures of orphans and miracle cures are useless, and the latter are irritating.



BTW: The Rambam said that the divine cannot be known or described.
He was almost certainly right about that.



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DISTANTLY THE SOUND OF BAGPIPES

We met each other in front of the old theatre and got into a long conversation. An intelligent woman who asked questions, and said sweetly that she thought I was lying when I told her about the Romanian I once dated who came to this country with only two things in mind: medical school and driving the length of the U.S.- Canadian border. Which I was.
It was very perspicacious of her. She didn't seem to mind.

It was an odd but pleasant dream. Sunlight. North Beach. Washington Square. The probability of something to eat. Possibly in company. For some reason an old friend was in there too. What threw it into left field was that I could hear the Hong Kong Police Band.

[The Hong Kong Police Band (香港警察樂隊 'heung gong ging chaat ngok teui'), with bagpipes, and their excellent rendition of We're no awa tae bide awa, which has quite unpronounceable lyrics (!), but as a British quick march is brisk and stirring.]


Several of the movie theatres that once existed in San Francisco are no longer around, having been converted entirely or torn down. There used to be two on Polk Street, three with multiple screens on Van Ness, and four, sometimes five, then three in Chinatown.


The only time I ever took a date to the movies was when I was still in Berkeley. The movie was Woody Allen's Bananas. It was the wrong choice, she didn't "understand" it, and that relationship didn't go anywhere.

If you think about it, that's a good indicator. Take her to see a Woody Allen movie, and note her reaction. If she enjoys it, there are possibilities, and she can hold her own in a conversation. Same probably goes for Monty Python.
Of course the other thing is that there are fewer things to do on dates nowadays.
There's always food and caffeinated beverages.

Sadly, I lack an imagination in that regard. I cannot imagine what a woman would like to do. And so few people read books that that too is not much of a possibility.

Dating requires being comfortable with each other and having things to talk about.



By the way: Mister Vampire (殭屍先生 'geung si sin saang') is probably not a good date movie. I'm just guessing here. But it would be interesting to try.



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Sunday, January 02, 2022

AITA? YES, IATA!

For some reason I feel ashamed that I laughed at a joke about an idiot on a ventilator and ivermectin. No, not because of the meanness -- heck, I am jes' purely overjoyed that all these Christians are finally free of internal parasites -- but because it really wasn't that funny.
My standards have sunk during this pandemic.
Of course my tolerance for the good Christian dumb-asses in the heartland was never high to begin with. I've always been surprised whenever one of the blighters shows evidence of problem-solving capabilities. One plus one? Two fingers, see!

Yeah, the pandemic has made me unabashedly bitchy.
Go ahead, take the ivermectin, you dunderheads.
And please AVOID emergency rooms.


In other news, Marjorie Taylor Green appear to have been banned from twitter. Which is sad, because there is a large audience for her brand of wisdom, and she was doing a damned fine job encouraging creative behaviours among the faithful. Statements about vaxination deaths, Jeebus, ivermectinating, distrust of masks and modern medicine, space lasers, and shoving twenty Watt lightbulbs up the rectum because Covid can't stand light.
Those people NEED her words of wisdom.
Horsepills work!



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THE WORKPLACE IGUANA

Tim, in the middle of the country, was working on a presentation involving shipping, and planned to illustrate it with a package labelled 'iguana'. Sadly, one cannot ship live animals, even iguanas -- the adorable zombie slug puppies of the animal world, especially if kept cold, when they become torpid and fall off their perches -- otherwise concerned individuals would mercifully mail order them to inhabit the warehouse and lounge upon the radiator in winter.
An iguana, everyone knows, is capable of a whole lot of inexpressible love.

Inexpressible because reptiles aren't quite capable of facial expressions. Whether they're sad or giddy, they'll just look at you, pan-faced. And twitch a scale or two.
Or a ctenosaurid back spike.
While puffing on their fine briar pipe. Virginia Perique. Pensively.

Most iguanas prefer sandblasts, because the textural effect is easier for the paws. All lizards and reptiles, actually. Except for crocodiles, who need large Danish freehands because of their big mits. And probably like aromatics. Grape cavendish.

As one fondly imagines.


Spent all day lazily in front of the computer, reading news items and many Wikipedia articles. The apartment mate was in front of hers, looking at brooches and compacts (bejewelled or precious metal face-powder containers with little mirrors, which women used for going to the bathroom back in the forties and fifties). Cheesy horror films on the telly.

Spiky slug aliens. Giant nuclear spiders. Zombies on galleons. Crawling eyes. Lots of rote screaming and young women wearing underwear or bathing costumes.
Half-assed attempts to flee. And inexplicable "plot" details.

Far better to have a workplace iguana than a work-place zombie, even though the latter does not require any special feeding or a heated rock on which to recline.
Zombies aren't good employees. No work ethic.


"Hey, you're white and sort of Christian, you can do exorcisms!"


Sadly, the professor in the last film was incinerated.
The daemons came back one last time.
He was on their list.



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Saturday, January 01, 2022

THEY LOOKED LIKE APPLES. THEY WERE LEMONS.

What with being a mean-spirited old bloke who does not wish well on a great many people, my reactions to headlines and news articles today was, as you would expect, billious, superficial, and filled with nuggets of indigestible bitchiness. I am not good at parties, and you don't want your friends to ever meet me.

NEW YEAR'S EVE CAR TORCHING RETURNS TO FRANCE
BBC
Oh good, normalcy.

DINNER-AND-DRINKS INVITE MAKES TEETOTALER UNEASY
DEAR ABBY
Oh dear. Perhaps don't have friends?
Myself, I abstain from liquor.
You may indulge.

MORE THAN 150 PEOPLE KILLED IN TEXAS COUNTY BY SUSPECTS RELEASE BY LIBERAL JUDGES
FOX NEWS
It's Texas. That's a good start.

THE FAST FOOD CHAINS THE BAY AREA DOESN'T HAVE YET (BUT WANTS TO TRY)
SF GATE
Yeah no. Life is too short to eat garbage. But I actually read the article, and quite lost any remaining interest. People eat crap.

OAKLAND RECORDS PLAGUE OF HOMICIDES, VIOLENT CRIME IN 2021
CBS BAY AREA
That's news?

AOC SLAMS GOP'S 'VERY OBVIOUS, STRANGE, AND DERANGED SEXUAL FRUSTRATIONS'
NEW YORK DAILY NEWS
That's the party of child-molesting Christian pastors, adulterers, incestuous clans in the backwoods, incels, proud boys, and abusive drunks. Was anyone expecting something different? Texas, Mississississippippi, and Florida, for christ sakes!
Let us not speak of Oklahoma, Tennessee, and Colorado.
Ain't going there.



The caption of this essay refers to the bag of nimboos on the kitchen counter. Both last night and this morning, without actually examing them, they really did look like apples.
Lemons are more useful.

When life gives you lemons, you watch The Creeping Terror (1964, black and white). "Yes", these people think, "let's dance". And they do. The hootenany was bad enough -- you pray for the monster to hurry up and eat these people -- but then when it gets to the dance hall where white people are dancing, you realize that this is what life in that era was all about. Bad music, mechanical wiggling, sh*tty clothing, and absolutely no acting whatsoever. These people have no talent at all, and you are happy that they cluster themselves in what is supposed to be their frantic panic into a tasty clump in the corner for the slow-moving monster to eat. Good. "And how is it", your apartment mate asks, "that they all get eaten head first?" And "why are all of them heading toward the monster?" At times , the creature howls in frustration.
Sci-fi horror, low budget. A classic. Three stars.
World's stupidest victims.
"Anyone who experienced that catastrophe would never go there again."

That era lasted from the fifties through the eighties.
I'm glad we'll don't have to do that any more.


"It was almost an hour before Caldwell learned of the monster's new attack."
------Narrator (Larry Burrell)


Normally, on holidays when I do not need to work I head over to a favourite Chinatown bakery. But I just knew that a coffee klatch would be there in till late afternoon, occupying the centre table for several hours, and considered that in any case I did not wish to be around a large number of people not wearing masks.

"The vastness of the universe is incredible; their home may no longer even exist"

We need the director's cut of this stinker.
The screaming is precious.



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