A good friend gave me fresh chilies from his garden recently. He's been growing several varieties this summer, from quite hot to rather a bit hotter. They're red and ripe now.
So naturally I've been eating at home a bit more. Cooking gives me the opportunity to nibble on juicy fragments of pepper to figure out what else should go in the dish to alleviate or ameliorate.
Very hot chilies require "more".
Both more experimental nibbling -- ooh, spicy! -- as well as more cream and juices.
It's the closest the single man can come to sex in San Francisco.
"Tell me what you eat and I'll tell you what you are."
---Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin
Lest you now squawk indignantly and question my assertion (chilies = orgasm), objecting that A) there is no evidence that they are just as good or even in the same ballpark what a thoroughly RIDICULOUS comparison, and B) San Francisco is just filled to the rafters with women what one earth is wrong with me why aren't I getting any, let me hasten to point out that for years before my second bachelorhood commenced I was deeply involved with chilies so I know what I'm talking about and at least now I can cook without any sensible restraint whatsoever ooh hot yum yum, AND when it comes to relationships one absolutely must employ intelligence and discretion, and NOT get involved with women who aren't precisely and exactly suitable and admirable.
So, chilies then. Come here my little firecracker.
I rather wonder what notorious single man and effete food-snob Brillat-Savarin would have made of yesterday's dinner.
Italian sausage.
Spinach.
Coconut milk.
Yoghurt.
Diverse hot chilies.
Green curry paste.
Slivered ginger.
Olive oil.
Amber fish sauce.
Peanut butter.
Hot sauce.
Soy sauce.
Lime juice.
Fresh ground pepper.
More or less greatest quantity to least, sautéed and simmered.
Then mixed with rotini, and eaten with great enjoyment.
I think he would have said that I'm Italian.
Yes, that's it. The pasta made it obvious.
Who the heck names their child 'Anthelme'?!?
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
CHINESE BAKERIES ARE AWESOME!
At an hour when, remarkably, I was fast asleep, an internet-reader discovered my blog, and was quite pleased. As a blogger I am naturally tickled pink when someone is quite pleased by what they find here.
It's one of the main joys of blogging.
Anonymous commented:
"Stumbled upon your blog, it's awesome. But more importantly, where ARE the best lao po bing 老婆餠 in SF?"
The post underneath which he or she appended their remark was CHINATOWN BAKERIES: DOW SA BING AND OTHER BING THINGS, written in January 2011.
"Stumbled upon your blog, it's awesome. But more importantly, where ARE the best lao po bing 老婆餠 in SF?"
Dear Anonymous commenter,
Thank you!
For me, the very best lou poh beng (老婆餠) in the city are down on Jackson Street at Yummy Bakery.
人仁西餅麵包 YUMMY BAKERY & CAFÉ
607 Jackson Street, San Francisco, CA 94133.
415-989-8388.
But, in all honesty, I have had better ones. There's something about the air here, and the available ingredients, that affects taste.
- - -
老婆餠
Yummy is one of my favourite places, as it is a friendly, bright, clean, and comfortable small bakery, where I can always be assured of a cup of Hong Kong Style milk-tea (港式奶茶 'gong-sik naai-cha', also called 香港奶茶 'heung-gong naai-cha'). Their lou poh beng are pretty darn good, and come in two sizes. In addition to the old wife cookies (老婆餠), they have a wide variety of other treats, which I have enumerated here: Tea and something yummy.
At least once a week I will head down there to spend a pleasant half-hour over snackiepoos. Doing so is very important for the mental health.
At present, like all Chinatown bakeries, they are also selling mooncakes, it being the appropriate season for that.
Yummy Bakery takes pride in what they do.
Justifiably, and very much so.
It is a good place.
Another bakery of which I am fond -- and, remarkably, they ALSO do milk-tea and lo po beng -- is Blossom Bakery right in the center of Chinatown.
幸福餅家 HANG FUK BENG KAA
BLOSSOM BAKERY
133 Waverly Place, between Clay and Washington.
San Francisco, CA 94108.
415-391-8088
Early in the week I would usually head over there for a lotus-seed pastry (蓮蓉餅 lin-yong bing) and a cuppa, but lately I've grown fond of their charsiu sou (叉烧酥 barbecue pork filled rolls), and their curry puff (咖喱角 gaa-lei kok) are also very tasty. The charsiu sou are larger than elsewhere and the flaky turn-over crust is to my mind utterly delightful: airy, fragile, multiple tissue-thin layers, all nice and crumbly crumbly, crunchy-munchy.
It's an old-timey looking place. Clean, but well-worn. Many of the middle-aged gentlemen who head there after work are Toishanese, still adapting to America, but doing so gracefully. They are no longer the young hotshots they once were, but calmer settled adults.
They're well-tempered, and they'll leave you your privacy.
Many of them have known each other for a while.
There might be some gossip exchanged.
Don't worry, no one you know.
There are many other Chinese bakeries in San Francisco, as much of the population is of East Asian heritage. Out in the avenues, in 'New Chinatown' on Clement Street and in the Sunset District, as well as oddly enough on Mission Street, and elsewhere. Seeing as I hang out in the downtown, I tend to frequent the bakeries and coffee shops of the original neighborhood.
But I encourage exploration; the journey of a thousand munchies starts with a single bite.
Who knows, one of them may have the best low pou bing in the universe.
And that discovery will be dynamite.
Chinese Bakeries are awesome.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
It's one of the main joys of blogging.
Anonymous commented:
"Stumbled upon your blog, it's awesome. But more importantly, where ARE the best lao po bing 老婆餠 in SF?"
The post underneath which he or she appended their remark was CHINATOWN BAKERIES: DOW SA BING AND OTHER BING THINGS, written in January 2011.
"Stumbled upon your blog, it's awesome. But more importantly, where ARE the best lao po bing 老婆餠 in SF?"
Dear Anonymous commenter,
Thank you!
For me, the very best lou poh beng (老婆餠) in the city are down on Jackson Street at Yummy Bakery.
人仁西餅麵包 YUMMY BAKERY & CAFÉ
607 Jackson Street, San Francisco, CA 94133.
415-989-8388.
But, in all honesty, I have had better ones. There's something about the air here, and the available ingredients, that affects taste.
- - -
老婆餠
Yummy is one of my favourite places, as it is a friendly, bright, clean, and comfortable small bakery, where I can always be assured of a cup of Hong Kong Style milk-tea (港式奶茶 'gong-sik naai-cha', also called 香港奶茶 'heung-gong naai-cha'). Their lou poh beng are pretty darn good, and come in two sizes. In addition to the old wife cookies (老婆餠), they have a wide variety of other treats, which I have enumerated here: Tea and something yummy.
At least once a week I will head down there to spend a pleasant half-hour over snackiepoos. Doing so is very important for the mental health.
At present, like all Chinatown bakeries, they are also selling mooncakes, it being the appropriate season for that.
Yummy Bakery takes pride in what they do.
Justifiably, and very much so.
It is a good place.
Another bakery of which I am fond -- and, remarkably, they ALSO do milk-tea and lo po beng -- is Blossom Bakery right in the center of Chinatown.
幸福餅家 HANG FUK BENG KAA
BLOSSOM BAKERY
133 Waverly Place, between Clay and Washington.
San Francisco, CA 94108.
415-391-8088
Early in the week I would usually head over there for a lotus-seed pastry (蓮蓉餅 lin-yong bing) and a cuppa, but lately I've grown fond of their charsiu sou (叉烧酥 barbecue pork filled rolls), and their curry puff (咖喱角 gaa-lei kok) are also very tasty. The charsiu sou are larger than elsewhere and the flaky turn-over crust is to my mind utterly delightful: airy, fragile, multiple tissue-thin layers, all nice and crumbly crumbly, crunchy-munchy.
It's an old-timey looking place. Clean, but well-worn. Many of the middle-aged gentlemen who head there after work are Toishanese, still adapting to America, but doing so gracefully. They are no longer the young hotshots they once were, but calmer settled adults.
They're well-tempered, and they'll leave you your privacy.
Many of them have known each other for a while.
There might be some gossip exchanged.
Don't worry, no one you know.
There are many other Chinese bakeries in San Francisco, as much of the population is of East Asian heritage. Out in the avenues, in 'New Chinatown' on Clement Street and in the Sunset District, as well as oddly enough on Mission Street, and elsewhere. Seeing as I hang out in the downtown, I tend to frequent the bakeries and coffee shops of the original neighborhood.
But I encourage exploration; the journey of a thousand munchies starts with a single bite.
Who knows, one of them may have the best low pou bing in the universe.
And that discovery will be dynamite.
Chinese Bakeries are awesome.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
A SUITABLE FIT FOR A WOMAN
The other evening, in conversation with a friend, I lightly described the ideal female companion. That is to say, the type of woman that all right-thinking men should aspire to find, especially if they are youngish middle-aged pipe-smokers who prefer women with big brains rather than big hooters.
This post is not about hooters. If that is what you came here for, you really should go elsewhere. There are, as you have probably discovered, hooters all over cyber space.
You may have a lot in common with random Pakistanis. Plus television executives, football fans, and diverse politicians in Washington.
It's sad, really.
What I said was "a woman who remarks 'honey, we absolutely HAVE to buy this! It's a dictionary of a language with only six-hundred speakers!' would be the ticket."
My friend agreed that that sounded utterly divine, but cautioned me to be more realistic. The perfect woman, he opined, would indeed say "we HAVE to buy this, it's a dictionary of a language with only six-hundred speakers", but she should also be positive and accepting of pipe-smoking.
Even if she herself never or seldom indulged.
Which sounds extremely nice.
And the idea is a sound one. A woman with a supportive attitude towards pipes, who is also more attracted to obscure subjects and linguistic stuff than to expensive handbags and footwear.
Such women probably do NOT exist all over cyberspace.
That is an enormous pity.
Hooters.
"A language with only six-hundred speakers"
In a way, this blog is rather like that. The only time I mention football or other sports is when I wish to insult a multitude, most of whom will never read this blog. The people who end up here are often interested in other subjects. Food. Snarky re-interpretations of history. Weird words.
Religion and irreligion.
And pipe tobacco.
Among the list of popular posts here are several that discuss pipe-tobacco.
Balkan Sobranie Original Mixture
The tobacco product that many people remember from an eccentric uncle. His tweed jacket, or satin vampire cape, always used to smell like that; they loved burying their long bird-like noses in the material when they were children and sniffing deeply of the fragrance.
Label: Balkan Sobranie.
Clan Pipe Tobacco
This post is popular among people who would never touch Clan pipe tobacco, formerly by Theodorus Niemeyer, in a hundred years. Several of my classmates in highschool loved it. They had issues, like most teenagers.
[This blogger finds some teenagers aesthetically appealing, but most of them are intellectually dreary. With a bit of luck, they'll grow up to be intellectually peculiar. A few are the other way around. Exceptionally few.]
Erinmore Flake: Harlot Tobacco
About a pipe-tobacco that made me vomit when I was fourteen.
I fondly remember my teenage years.
Label: Erinmore
Pipe Smoking Ladies
Most people who find this are, I hope, women. Pipe-smoking should not be a man's preserve, and in places like Denmark and the Congo many women have acquired the habit. Elsewhere, they may be in the closet. Especially in California, where the female of the species is encouraged to be an entirely unremarkable and politically correct vegan consumerite.
Real women are book-reading carnivores.
Label: Smoking women
List of Flakes
Brief descriptions of over three dozen concoctions of flue-cured tobaccos matured under pressure. They can be very rewarding for the contemplative person. Peaceful tobaccos, best enjoyed with a book and perhaps a bit of sherry or tea. I am at this moment smoking Cornell & Diehl's "Exhausted Rooster" in a pipe from John's Pipe Shop, formerly located at 524 - 524½ South Spring Street in Los Angeles. Many of their pipes were made by Comoy's of London, as were pipes for Astleys (London) Wally Frank (New York), Iwan Ries (Chicago), and Grants (San Francisco).
To have one is to own a slice of history.
It is a lovely Virginia and Perique flake, tangy but not too bold.
Something a lady would not be embarrassed to smoke, I hope.
Very nice and bright.
Label: Flake
Solomon - Prebyterian Mixture - Planta Tabak
Exposing the truly degenerate habits common to men of the cloth.
Public schools, caning, and grim Scottish cuisine.
Not for the faint of heart.
Label: Presbyterian
Hello Kitty tobacco
People who willingly associate much with me know that Hello Kitty is a subject that often comes up in conversation. But rather than a perverse interest of mine, it is that their own sweet personalities that tend to remind me of something feline. Honestly.
And what would Hello Kitty smoke?
Click to find out.
label: Hello Kitty
I sincerely hope that there are a number of women among readers of these posts, as something which gives me such great pleasure should be enjoyed by a full spectrum. But perhaps it's a habit that is on it's way out. Thoughtful women might enjoy it.
Tobacconists are nowadays far more enthusiastic about cigars and cigar smokers than about pipes and good briar. That's where the money is, and for some utterly obscure reason, cigar smoking appears to have way more sex-appeal. I cannot fathom why.
Possibly there is sick symbolism there.
For a good introduction to cigar smokers, click this label:
The wall
Many fond mentions of the type will come up.
With favourable impressions.
Of cigar smokers.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
This post is not about hooters. If that is what you came here for, you really should go elsewhere. There are, as you have probably discovered, hooters all over cyber space.
You may have a lot in common with random Pakistanis. Plus television executives, football fans, and diverse politicians in Washington.
It's sad, really.
What I said was "a woman who remarks 'honey, we absolutely HAVE to buy this! It's a dictionary of a language with only six-hundred speakers!' would be the ticket."
My friend agreed that that sounded utterly divine, but cautioned me to be more realistic. The perfect woman, he opined, would indeed say "we HAVE to buy this, it's a dictionary of a language with only six-hundred speakers", but she should also be positive and accepting of pipe-smoking.
Even if she herself never or seldom indulged.
Which sounds extremely nice.
And the idea is a sound one. A woman with a supportive attitude towards pipes, who is also more attracted to obscure subjects and linguistic stuff than to expensive handbags and footwear.
Such women probably do NOT exist all over cyberspace.
That is an enormous pity.
Hooters.
"A language with only six-hundred speakers"
In a way, this blog is rather like that. The only time I mention football or other sports is when I wish to insult a multitude, most of whom will never read this blog. The people who end up here are often interested in other subjects. Food. Snarky re-interpretations of history. Weird words.
Religion and irreligion.
And pipe tobacco.
Among the list of popular posts here are several that discuss pipe-tobacco.
Balkan Sobranie Original Mixture
The tobacco product that many people remember from an eccentric uncle. His tweed jacket, or satin vampire cape, always used to smell like that; they loved burying their long bird-like noses in the material when they were children and sniffing deeply of the fragrance.
Label: Balkan Sobranie.
Clan Pipe Tobacco
This post is popular among people who would never touch Clan pipe tobacco, formerly by Theodorus Niemeyer, in a hundred years. Several of my classmates in highschool loved it. They had issues, like most teenagers.
[This blogger finds some teenagers aesthetically appealing, but most of them are intellectually dreary. With a bit of luck, they'll grow up to be intellectually peculiar. A few are the other way around. Exceptionally few.]
Erinmore Flake: Harlot Tobacco
About a pipe-tobacco that made me vomit when I was fourteen.
I fondly remember my teenage years.
Label: Erinmore
Pipe Smoking Ladies
Most people who find this are, I hope, women. Pipe-smoking should not be a man's preserve, and in places like Denmark and the Congo many women have acquired the habit. Elsewhere, they may be in the closet. Especially in California, where the female of the species is encouraged to be an entirely unremarkable and politically correct vegan consumerite.
Real women are book-reading carnivores.
Label: Smoking women
List of Flakes
Brief descriptions of over three dozen concoctions of flue-cured tobaccos matured under pressure. They can be very rewarding for the contemplative person. Peaceful tobaccos, best enjoyed with a book and perhaps a bit of sherry or tea. I am at this moment smoking Cornell & Diehl's "Exhausted Rooster" in a pipe from John's Pipe Shop, formerly located at 524 - 524½ South Spring Street in Los Angeles. Many of their pipes were made by Comoy's of London, as were pipes for Astleys (London) Wally Frank (New York), Iwan Ries (Chicago), and Grants (San Francisco).
To have one is to own a slice of history.
It is a lovely Virginia and Perique flake, tangy but not too bold.
Something a lady would not be embarrassed to smoke, I hope.
Very nice and bright.
Label: Flake
Solomon - Prebyterian Mixture - Planta Tabak
Exposing the truly degenerate habits common to men of the cloth.
Public schools, caning, and grim Scottish cuisine.
Not for the faint of heart.
Label: Presbyterian
Hello Kitty tobacco
People who willingly associate much with me know that Hello Kitty is a subject that often comes up in conversation. But rather than a perverse interest of mine, it is that their own sweet personalities that tend to remind me of something feline. Honestly.
And what would Hello Kitty smoke?
Click to find out.
label: Hello Kitty
I sincerely hope that there are a number of women among readers of these posts, as something which gives me such great pleasure should be enjoyed by a full spectrum. But perhaps it's a habit that is on it's way out. Thoughtful women might enjoy it.
Tobacconists are nowadays far more enthusiastic about cigars and cigar smokers than about pipes and good briar. That's where the money is, and for some utterly obscure reason, cigar smoking appears to have way more sex-appeal. I cannot fathom why.
Possibly there is sick symbolism there.
For a good introduction to cigar smokers, click this label:
The wall
Many fond mentions of the type will come up.
With favourable impressions.
Of cigar smokers.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Monday, September 16, 2013
CULINARY DREAMING
It struck me the other day that fish-wise America is a nightmare. The vast majority of my fellow-Americans have scant clue about seafood, and are intimately familiar with only one piscine specialty: tuna salad.
Tuna salad is a splendid concoction. Truly the national dish.
Admit it, ninety nine percent of you secretly love it.
Why, some of you are feasting on it right now.
Mmmmm, mayo, celery, alleged tuna.
We are held together by mayo.
Oh sure, there are actually several other fishy dishes Americans know. Clam chowder, to name but one. That might be the only one that does not use mayo or a gooey greasy buttery substance that in some ways recalls mayo (dairy and flour).
But nearly everything else in the fin or bottomfeeder class is mayoed up the wazzoo.
Fishsticks. Crab. Lobster. Oysters. Walnut shrimp.
Batter them, nuke 'em in the fry-o-lator, and serve with mayo.
Or a dolled-up version of mayo.
Tartar sauce or aioli.
"Well, how's everything goin' here?"
In Texas, at Sodelak's Original Country Inn, located in the beautiful town of Snook, they serve chicken-fried bacon strips. With a bowl of cream gravy on the side, for dipping.
I really think it should have tartar sauce next to it.
Tartar sauce is, more-or-less, fancy mayo.
It makes everything a gourmet treat.
Bacon is the new fish stick.
Finger-food for all ages.
Just needs more salt.
PART OF A WELL-BALANCED BREAKFAST
[Source: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZfbTO0GlONU]
Snook: It's the ONLY reason to visit Texas.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuna salad is a splendid concoction. Truly the national dish.
Admit it, ninety nine percent of you secretly love it.
Why, some of you are feasting on it right now.
Mmmmm, mayo, celery, alleged tuna.
We are held together by mayo.
Oh sure, there are actually several other fishy dishes Americans know. Clam chowder, to name but one. That might be the only one that does not use mayo or a gooey greasy buttery substance that in some ways recalls mayo (dairy and flour).
But nearly everything else in the fin or bottomfeeder class is mayoed up the wazzoo.
Fishsticks. Crab. Lobster. Oysters. Walnut shrimp.
Batter them, nuke 'em in the fry-o-lator, and serve with mayo.
Or a dolled-up version of mayo.
Tartar sauce or aioli.
"Well, how's everything goin' here?"
In Texas, at Sodelak's Original Country Inn, located in the beautiful town of Snook, they serve chicken-fried bacon strips. With a bowl of cream gravy on the side, for dipping.
I really think it should have tartar sauce next to it.
Tartar sauce is, more-or-less, fancy mayo.
It makes everything a gourmet treat.
Bacon is the new fish stick.
Finger-food for all ages.
Just needs more salt.
PART OF A WELL-BALANCED BREAKFAST
[Source: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZfbTO0GlONU]
Snook: It's the ONLY reason to visit Texas.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Sunday, September 15, 2013
CIVET COFFEE - KOPI LUWAK
Anyone who sells civet coffee is an accessory to animal cruelty, and, in the opinion of this blogger, should be drummed out of business and run out of town. Preferably tarred and feathered first.
There is absolutely no way that kopi luwak can be ethically supplied by coffee brokers and importers, reason being that at every step from civet-poop to hermetically sealed bag, implausible deniability is rigidly maintained, by practiced dissimulation and outright lying.
It's a very straight-faced industry.
The truth is that multitudes of farms in Indonesia, the Philippines, and Vietnam, keep wild civet cats penned up in cages, fed a diet consisting primarily of coffee berries. The animals usually get sick of digestive ailments, and die well before their normal life span.
No one can make a claim that caging normally solitary animals together, in filthy and crowded coops, is in any way humane; companies that boldly assert that their civet coffee is only and entirely 'harvested' from wild civets are, without exception, thoroughly complicit in an industry sodden with cruelty.
From Wikipedia:
"Kopi luwak is produced mainly on the islands of Sumatra, Java, Bali, and Sulawesi in the Indonesian Archipelago. It is also widely gathered in the forest or produced in the farms in the islands of the Philippines (where the product is called kape motit in the Cordillera region, kape alamid in Tagalog areas, and kape melô or kape musang in Mindanao island), and in East Timor (where it is called kafé-laku). Weasel coffee is a loose English translation of its Vietnamese name cà phê Chồn, where popular, chemically simulated versions are also produced."
Okay. I have no problem boycotting imports from those places. Given that the concepts "quality control" and "product safety" are barely known there anyhow, and, seeing as far better equivalent comestibles are made elsewhere, no biggie.
Quote:
"The method of collected feces from wild civets has given way to intensive farming methods in which caged civets are force fed the coffee beans. This method of production has raised ethical concerns about the treatment of civets due to "horrific conditions" including isolation, poor diet, small cages and a high mortality rate. According to an officer from TRAFFIC, the trade in civets to make kopi luwak may constitute a significant threat to wild civet populations."
[Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kopi_Luwak.]
In short: cruelty to animals, and outright lies to the public.
What else are Indonesian, Philippino, and Vietnamese businessmen up to?
And why should you buy anything at all from those countries?
By the way, you can also get civet coffee from Amazon.
Under certain conditions, you will be "Eligible for FREE Super Saver Shipping", too!
Way to go, Amazon.
From Tony Wild, writing in the Guardian, comes this:
"Genuine Indonesian kopi luwak is collected from the droppings of a wild cat-like animal called the luwak (the common palm civet, Paraxorus Hermaphroditus), a shy, solitary nocturnal forest animal that freely prowls nearby coffee plantations at night in the harvest season, eating the choicest ripe coffee cherries. It can't digest the stones – or coffee beans – of the cherry, so craps them out along with the rest of its droppings. The beans are collected by farm workers. Cleaned and washed, they have acquired a unique and highly prized taste from their passage through the luwak's digestive tract and the anal scent glands they use for marking their territory. Being wild, hard to collect, variable in age and quality, and very rare, kopi luwak is not a commercially viable crop, but just an interesting coffee curiosity."
Read the rest of his essay here.
[ http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/wordofmouth/2013/sep/13/civet-coffee-cut-the-crap ]
"One single Indonesian farm claims to produce 7,000kg a year from 240 caged civets"
It's pretty horrifying what some merchants are willing to do to make a fast buck off dumb-ass Westerners and Japanese who don't know and don't care where their show-off luxuries come from.
Apparently, kopi luak tastes like shit.
Oprah Winfrey likes it.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
There is absolutely no way that kopi luwak can be ethically supplied by coffee brokers and importers, reason being that at every step from civet-poop to hermetically sealed bag, implausible deniability is rigidly maintained, by practiced dissimulation and outright lying.
It's a very straight-faced industry.
The truth is that multitudes of farms in Indonesia, the Philippines, and Vietnam, keep wild civet cats penned up in cages, fed a diet consisting primarily of coffee berries. The animals usually get sick of digestive ailments, and die well before their normal life span.
No one can make a claim that caging normally solitary animals together, in filthy and crowded coops, is in any way humane; companies that boldly assert that their civet coffee is only and entirely 'harvested' from wild civets are, without exception, thoroughly complicit in an industry sodden with cruelty.
From Wikipedia:
"Kopi luwak is produced mainly on the islands of Sumatra, Java, Bali, and Sulawesi in the Indonesian Archipelago. It is also widely gathered in the forest or produced in the farms in the islands of the Philippines (where the product is called kape motit in the Cordillera region, kape alamid in Tagalog areas, and kape melô or kape musang in Mindanao island), and in East Timor (where it is called kafé-laku). Weasel coffee is a loose English translation of its Vietnamese name cà phê Chồn, where popular, chemically simulated versions are also produced."
Okay. I have no problem boycotting imports from those places. Given that the concepts "quality control" and "product safety" are barely known there anyhow, and, seeing as far better equivalent comestibles are made elsewhere, no biggie.
Quote:
"The method of collected feces from wild civets has given way to intensive farming methods in which caged civets are force fed the coffee beans. This method of production has raised ethical concerns about the treatment of civets due to "horrific conditions" including isolation, poor diet, small cages and a high mortality rate. According to an officer from TRAFFIC, the trade in civets to make kopi luwak may constitute a significant threat to wild civet populations."
[Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kopi_Luwak.]
In short: cruelty to animals, and outright lies to the public.
What else are Indonesian, Philippino, and Vietnamese businessmen up to?
And why should you buy anything at all from those countries?
By the way, you can also get civet coffee from Amazon.
Under certain conditions, you will be "Eligible for FREE Super Saver Shipping", too!
Way to go, Amazon.
From Tony Wild, writing in the Guardian, comes this:
"Genuine Indonesian kopi luwak is collected from the droppings of a wild cat-like animal called the luwak (the common palm civet, Paraxorus Hermaphroditus), a shy, solitary nocturnal forest animal that freely prowls nearby coffee plantations at night in the harvest season, eating the choicest ripe coffee cherries. It can't digest the stones – or coffee beans – of the cherry, so craps them out along with the rest of its droppings. The beans are collected by farm workers. Cleaned and washed, they have acquired a unique and highly prized taste from their passage through the luwak's digestive tract and the anal scent glands they use for marking their territory. Being wild, hard to collect, variable in age and quality, and very rare, kopi luwak is not a commercially viable crop, but just an interesting coffee curiosity."
Read the rest of his essay here.
[ http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/wordofmouth/2013/sep/13/civet-coffee-cut-the-crap ]
"One single Indonesian farm claims to produce 7,000kg a year from 240 caged civets"
It's pretty horrifying what some merchants are willing to do to make a fast buck off dumb-ass Westerners and Japanese who don't know and don't care where their show-off luxuries come from.
Apparently, kopi luak tastes like shit.
Oprah Winfrey likes it.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
WHAT TO DO IN SAN FRANCISCO
You've travelled twelve thousand miles to be here. You visited Fisherman's Wharf and the only exciting thing was watching a pickpocket get beaten up by a streetperson. Crabs, blah. Oyster po'boys, ick. Clam chowder in a bowl made out of a dried and hollowed-out sourdough loaf, meh.
Big fat meh.
Well, there's the prison. You're European (or something), and you've ALWAYS wanted to see the inside of an American prison. It's very exciting. Bars and sh*t and everything, and no teevee. No aircon or exercise room either. So deliciously primitive!
But you get seasick easily, so you don't want to risk the ferry to the island.
Speaking of islands, maybe there's a channel here that plays Fantasy Island in syndication?
"Buzz buzz deplane deplane"
"Shut up Tattoo, you're SO seventies!"
"Yezz buzz"
[Internal monologue: 'Man, I'm totally OVER that little freak!']
San Francisco isn't all it's cracked up to be.
But, thanks to a young lady of remarkable brilliance from Australia, you can have real food in San Francisco. Not just lousy updredged bottom feeders from the Bay, or yet another visit to a MacDonalds because it reminds you of home.
IT'S YUMMY AND DELICIOUS!
[Source: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iODrN07xIXA.]
Don't forget the oatmeal. It helps your digestive system process that delicious bacon and eggs. Proper nutrition is very important.
They don't have that in San Francisco.
Personally, I think Natalie Tran is da bomb, totally, and I now have an unquenchable yen for hotel-room cooking. Natalia Tran, two rashers of apple-wood smoked bacon, and a warm cup of oats!
What we learned from a different Natalie Tran video is that there is nothing sharp in her underwear.
Good to know.
We love you, Natalie.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Big fat meh.
Well, there's the prison. You're European (or something), and you've ALWAYS wanted to see the inside of an American prison. It's very exciting. Bars and sh*t and everything, and no teevee. No aircon or exercise room either. So deliciously primitive!
But you get seasick easily, so you don't want to risk the ferry to the island.
Speaking of islands, maybe there's a channel here that plays Fantasy Island in syndication?
"Buzz buzz deplane deplane"
"Shut up Tattoo, you're SO seventies!"
"Yezz buzz"
[Internal monologue: 'Man, I'm totally OVER that little freak!']
San Francisco isn't all it's cracked up to be.
But, thanks to a young lady of remarkable brilliance from Australia, you can have real food in San Francisco. Not just lousy updredged bottom feeders from the Bay, or yet another visit to a MacDonalds because it reminds you of home.
IT'S YUMMY AND DELICIOUS!
[Source: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iODrN07xIXA.]
Don't forget the oatmeal. It helps your digestive system process that delicious bacon and eggs. Proper nutrition is very important.
They don't have that in San Francisco.
Personally, I think Natalie Tran is da bomb, totally, and I now have an unquenchable yen for hotel-room cooking. Natalia Tran, two rashers of apple-wood smoked bacon, and a warm cup of oats!
What we learned from a different Natalie Tran video is that there is nothing sharp in her underwear.
Good to know.
We love you, Natalie.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Saturday, September 14, 2013
SYRIA AND THE LEAGUE OF NATIONS
Vladimir Putin argues the case against a strike on Syria better than the United States government argues in favour of it. And while one may disagree with the drift of his op-ed piece in the New York Times, it is clearer and more straightforward than anything our own administration has said recently. Especially that ineffective woofling speech by our president a few days ago.
If Vladimir Putin were a blogger, he would be a 'must-read'. Whereas the man I voted for twice is not nearly so interesting anymore, and at times resembles a broken record. Or is at least far paler than when he was still young and fresh.
So, just in case you missed it, here's Mr. Putin's editorial in its entirety.
Because it's well worth reading.
Disagree if you must.
[Begin cite]
A PLEA FOR CAUTION FROM RUSSIA
By VLADIMIR V. PUTIN
MOSCOW — RECENT events surrounding Syria have prompted me to speak directly to the American people and their political leaders. It is important to do so at a time of insufficient communication between our societies.
Relations between us have passed through different stages. We stood against each other during the cold war. But we were also allies once, and defeated the Nazis together. The universal international organization — the United Nations — was then established to prevent such devastation from ever happening again.
The United Nations’ founders understood that decisions affecting war and peace should happen only by consensus, and with America’s consent the veto by Security Council permanent members was enshrined in the United Nations Charter. The profound wisdom of this has underpinned the stability of international relations for decades.
No one wants the United Nations to suffer the fate of the League of Nations, which collapsed because it lacked real leverage. This is possible if influential countries bypass the United Nations and take military action without Security Council authorization.
The potential strike by the United States against Syria, despite strong opposition from many countries and major political and religious leaders, including the pope, will result in more innocent victims and escalation, potentially spreading the conflict far beyond Syria’s borders. A strike would increase violence and unleash a new wave of terrorism. It could undermine multilateral efforts to resolve the Iranian nuclear problem and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and further destabilize the Middle East and North Africa. It could throw the entire system of international law and order out of balance.
Syria is not witnessing a battle for democracy, but an armed conflict between government and opposition in a multireligious country. There are few champions of democracy in Syria. But there are more than enough Qaeda fighters and extremists of all stripes battling the government. The United States State Department has designated Al Nusra Front and the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant, fighting with the opposition, as terrorist organizations. This internal conflict, fueled by foreign weapons supplied to the opposition, is one of the bloodiest in the world.
Mercenaries from Arab countries fighting there, and hundreds of militants from Western countries and even Russia, are an issue of our deep concern. Might they not return to our countries with experience acquired in Syria? After all, after fighting in Libya, extremists moved on to Mali. This threatens us all.
From the outset, Russia has advocated peaceful dialogue enabling Syrians to develop a compromise plan for their own future. We are not protecting the Syrian government, but international law. We need to use the United Nations Security Council and believe that preserving law and order in today’s complex and turbulent world is one of the few ways to keep international relations from sliding into chaos. The law is still the law, and we must follow it whether we like it or not. Under current international law, force is permitted only in self-defense or by the decision of the Security Council. Anything else is unacceptable under the United Nations Charter and would constitute an act of aggression.
No one doubts that poison gas was used in Syria. But there is every reason to believe it was used not by the Syrian Army, but by opposition forces, to provoke intervention by their powerful foreign patrons, who would be siding with the fundamentalists. Reports that militants are preparing another attack — this time against Israel — cannot be ignored.
It is alarming that military intervention in internal conflicts in foreign countries has become commonplace for the United States. Is it in America’s long-term interest? I doubt it. Millions around the world increasingly see America not as a model of democracy but as relying solely on brute force, cobbling coalitions together under the slogan “you’re either with us or against us.”
But force has proved ineffective and pointless. Afghanistan is reeling, and no one can say what will happen after international forces withdraw. Libya is divided into tribes and clans. In Iraq the civil war continues, with dozens killed each day. In the United States, many draw an analogy between Iraq and Syria, and ask why their government would want to repeat recent mistakes.
No matter how targeted the strikes or how sophisticated the weapons, civilian casualties are inevitable, including the elderly and children, whom the strikes are meant to protect.
The world reacts by asking: if you cannot count on international law, then you must find other ways to ensure your security. Thus a growing number of countries seek to acquire weapons of mass destruction. This is logical: if you have the bomb, no one will touch you. We are left with talk of the need to strengthen nonproliferation, when in reality this is being eroded.
We must stop using the language of force and return to the path of civilized diplomatic and political settlement.
A new opportunity to avoid military action has emerged in the past few days. The United States, Russia and all members of the international community must take advantage of the Syrian government’s willingness to place its chemical arsenal under international control for subsequent destruction. Judging by the statements of President Obama, the United States sees this as an alternative to military action.
I welcome the president’s interest in continuing the dialogue with Russia on Syria. We must work together to keep this hope alive, as we agreed to at the Group of 8 meeting in Lough Erne in Northern Ireland in June, and steer the discussion back toward negotiations.
If we can avoid force against Syria, this will improve the atmosphere in international affairs and strengthen mutual trust. It will be our shared success and open the door to cooperation on other critical issues.
My working and personal relationship with President Obama is marked by growing trust. I appreciate this. I carefully studied his address to the nation on Tuesday. And I would rather disagree with a case he made on American exceptionalism, stating that the United States’ policy is “what makes America different. It’s what makes us exceptional.” It is extremely dangerous to encourage people to see themselves as exceptional, whatever the motivation. There are big countries and small countries, rich and poor, those with long democratic traditions and those still finding their way to democracy. Their policies differ, too. We are all different, but when we ask for the Lord’s blessings, we must not forget that God created us equal.
[End cite.]
[Source and probable copyright: NYT - The Opinion Pages - A Plea for Caution From Russia.]
I have different opinions about a number of the things Mr. Putin references. But interventionism in Syria is NOT in the United States interest, and I frankly don't give a damn that some tin-pot turd-world tyrant uses roach-spray on his own people when both he and that people despise the United States and have consistently supported anti-American acts and agitation.
Both the Ba'ath Socialists and Syrian citizens have been directly responsible for numerous terrorist incidents in the past decades.
Syria is a pit. A pox on both their houses.
Let the international community get their knickers soggy over this one. To paraphrase Geert Wilders, we've done enough.
AFTER THOUGHT
Not that it's anything other than ridiculously unlikely, but if Mr. Obama wants a chance to rebut Mr. Putin on this blog, I'd be more than happy to provide the space.
The NSA knows where to find me.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
If Vladimir Putin were a blogger, he would be a 'must-read'. Whereas the man I voted for twice is not nearly so interesting anymore, and at times resembles a broken record. Or is at least far paler than when he was still young and fresh.
So, just in case you missed it, here's Mr. Putin's editorial in its entirety.
Because it's well worth reading.
Disagree if you must.
[Begin cite]
A PLEA FOR CAUTION FROM RUSSIA
By VLADIMIR V. PUTIN
MOSCOW — RECENT events surrounding Syria have prompted me to speak directly to the American people and their political leaders. It is important to do so at a time of insufficient communication between our societies.
Relations between us have passed through different stages. We stood against each other during the cold war. But we were also allies once, and defeated the Nazis together. The universal international organization — the United Nations — was then established to prevent such devastation from ever happening again.
The United Nations’ founders understood that decisions affecting war and peace should happen only by consensus, and with America’s consent the veto by Security Council permanent members was enshrined in the United Nations Charter. The profound wisdom of this has underpinned the stability of international relations for decades.
No one wants the United Nations to suffer the fate of the League of Nations, which collapsed because it lacked real leverage. This is possible if influential countries bypass the United Nations and take military action without Security Council authorization.
The potential strike by the United States against Syria, despite strong opposition from many countries and major political and religious leaders, including the pope, will result in more innocent victims and escalation, potentially spreading the conflict far beyond Syria’s borders. A strike would increase violence and unleash a new wave of terrorism. It could undermine multilateral efforts to resolve the Iranian nuclear problem and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and further destabilize the Middle East and North Africa. It could throw the entire system of international law and order out of balance.
Syria is not witnessing a battle for democracy, but an armed conflict between government and opposition in a multireligious country. There are few champions of democracy in Syria. But there are more than enough Qaeda fighters and extremists of all stripes battling the government. The United States State Department has designated Al Nusra Front and the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant, fighting with the opposition, as terrorist organizations. This internal conflict, fueled by foreign weapons supplied to the opposition, is one of the bloodiest in the world.
Mercenaries from Arab countries fighting there, and hundreds of militants from Western countries and even Russia, are an issue of our deep concern. Might they not return to our countries with experience acquired in Syria? After all, after fighting in Libya, extremists moved on to Mali. This threatens us all.
From the outset, Russia has advocated peaceful dialogue enabling Syrians to develop a compromise plan for their own future. We are not protecting the Syrian government, but international law. We need to use the United Nations Security Council and believe that preserving law and order in today’s complex and turbulent world is one of the few ways to keep international relations from sliding into chaos. The law is still the law, and we must follow it whether we like it or not. Under current international law, force is permitted only in self-defense or by the decision of the Security Council. Anything else is unacceptable under the United Nations Charter and would constitute an act of aggression.
No one doubts that poison gas was used in Syria. But there is every reason to believe it was used not by the Syrian Army, but by opposition forces, to provoke intervention by their powerful foreign patrons, who would be siding with the fundamentalists. Reports that militants are preparing another attack — this time against Israel — cannot be ignored.
It is alarming that military intervention in internal conflicts in foreign countries has become commonplace for the United States. Is it in America’s long-term interest? I doubt it. Millions around the world increasingly see America not as a model of democracy but as relying solely on brute force, cobbling coalitions together under the slogan “you’re either with us or against us.”
But force has proved ineffective and pointless. Afghanistan is reeling, and no one can say what will happen after international forces withdraw. Libya is divided into tribes and clans. In Iraq the civil war continues, with dozens killed each day. In the United States, many draw an analogy between Iraq and Syria, and ask why their government would want to repeat recent mistakes.
No matter how targeted the strikes or how sophisticated the weapons, civilian casualties are inevitable, including the elderly and children, whom the strikes are meant to protect.
The world reacts by asking: if you cannot count on international law, then you must find other ways to ensure your security. Thus a growing number of countries seek to acquire weapons of mass destruction. This is logical: if you have the bomb, no one will touch you. We are left with talk of the need to strengthen nonproliferation, when in reality this is being eroded.
We must stop using the language of force and return to the path of civilized diplomatic and political settlement.
A new opportunity to avoid military action has emerged in the past few days. The United States, Russia and all members of the international community must take advantage of the Syrian government’s willingness to place its chemical arsenal under international control for subsequent destruction. Judging by the statements of President Obama, the United States sees this as an alternative to military action.
I welcome the president’s interest in continuing the dialogue with Russia on Syria. We must work together to keep this hope alive, as we agreed to at the Group of 8 meeting in Lough Erne in Northern Ireland in June, and steer the discussion back toward negotiations.
If we can avoid force against Syria, this will improve the atmosphere in international affairs and strengthen mutual trust. It will be our shared success and open the door to cooperation on other critical issues.
My working and personal relationship with President Obama is marked by growing trust. I appreciate this. I carefully studied his address to the nation on Tuesday. And I would rather disagree with a case he made on American exceptionalism, stating that the United States’ policy is “what makes America different. It’s what makes us exceptional.” It is extremely dangerous to encourage people to see themselves as exceptional, whatever the motivation. There are big countries and small countries, rich and poor, those with long democratic traditions and those still finding their way to democracy. Their policies differ, too. We are all different, but when we ask for the Lord’s blessings, we must not forget that God created us equal.
[End cite.]
[Source and probable copyright: NYT - The Opinion Pages - A Plea for Caution From Russia.]
I have different opinions about a number of the things Mr. Putin references. But interventionism in Syria is NOT in the United States interest, and I frankly don't give a damn that some tin-pot turd-world tyrant uses roach-spray on his own people when both he and that people despise the United States and have consistently supported anti-American acts and agitation.
Both the Ba'ath Socialists and Syrian citizens have been directly responsible for numerous terrorist incidents in the past decades.
Syria is a pit. A pox on both their houses.
Let the international community get their knickers soggy over this one. To paraphrase Geert Wilders, we've done enough.
AFTER THOUGHT
Not that it's anything other than ridiculously unlikely, but if Mr. Obama wants a chance to rebut Mr. Putin on this blog, I'd be more than happy to provide the space.
The NSA knows where to find me.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Friday, September 13, 2013
SHE, SHE, SHE, WINKED AT ME!
First the Scots, Australians, and New Zealanders, now also the English. What I'm talking about is singular expression of a lack of social graces and societal isolation leading to behavioural patterns which are not conducive to maximum interpersonal dynamics.
No, I'm not going to change that sentence into plain English; let it stand as is. It expresses the concept with admirable inexplicity.
From the BBC, we learn that a gentleman (mr. Robert Newman) in Wiltshire, England, recently committed an act of physical congress with a goat.
His attorney (Anne Ellery) asserted that said act was a "symptom of isolation rather than depravity".
[Source: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-wiltshire-24066227.]
Quite naturally, upon reading that news item was my first thought was of the Japanese. Specifically, their development of robotic companions for humans.
Cite:
"Japanese engineers have invented a female robot that can blink, respond to the eye contact, and recognize body language. Osaka University's robotics engineers have created a new romantic companion for humans.
The female robot is called Geminoid F and it looks like a Eurasian female. The robot has soft feminine features, brown hair and eyes and beautiful pink cheeks."
End cite.
[Source: http://www.frenchtribune.com/teneur/1317034-japanese-scientists-make-romantic-companion-female-robot-humans.]
I am as much a believer in expanding man's horizons as anyone, but the concept of robotic love goats is beyond even me. I cannot express the mental twists it takes to imagine mechanical goats, with natural feeling fur or hair, pliable joints, and realistic expressions, that would be suitable for sale in the country districts of Scotland, Australia, New Zealand, and Wiltshire.
It is something I am unable to formulate, I lack the intellectual capacity.
Nimble machines with plastic, rubber, foam, horns, and soft artificial fur (wool?) over a clever mechanical structure of gears, cogs, wheels, and complex microcircuitry, with the appropriate preprogrammed computerized responses -- and enough reactional randomness built in for a semblance of realism -- the sole function of which is to provide romantic companionship for healthy young men suffering from symptoms of isolation...........
N o, words utterly fail me.
The device should be calibrated to maintain a constant temperature of 98.6 degrees, or fractionally warmer.
That's very important.
Never-the-less, I am certain that thanks toour alien overlords Japanese scientists, the pub-scene in large parts of the English-speaking world may soon be quite different. Single men will no longer be embarrassed by their lack of arm-candy on Saturday night, and even the clubs south of Market Street in San Francisco will be enlivened.
The economic implications alone are staggering.
I expect we'll see goats everywhere. They're easy to feed, too. Batteries.
The term "performance anxiety" means something else now.
All of this cannot happen soon enough.
Wiltshire is the test-market.
They need prototypes.
Make it happen.
Baa. Baa.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
From the BBC, we learn that a gentleman (mr. Robert Newman) in Wiltshire, England, recently committed an act of physical congress with a goat.
His attorney (Anne Ellery) asserted that said act was a "symptom of isolation rather than depravity".
[Source: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-wiltshire-24066227.]
Quite naturally, upon reading that news item was my first thought was of the Japanese. Specifically, their development of robotic companions for humans.
Cite:
"Japanese engineers have invented a female robot that can blink, respond to the eye contact, and recognize body language. Osaka University's robotics engineers have created a new romantic companion for humans.
The female robot is called Geminoid F and it looks like a Eurasian female. The robot has soft feminine features, brown hair and eyes and beautiful pink cheeks."
End cite.
[Source: http://www.frenchtribune.com/teneur/1317034-japanese-scientists-make-romantic-companion-female-robot-humans.]
I am as much a believer in expanding man's horizons as anyone, but the concept of robotic love goats is beyond even me. I cannot express the mental twists it takes to imagine mechanical goats, with natural feeling fur or hair, pliable joints, and realistic expressions, that would be suitable for sale in the country districts of Scotland, Australia, New Zealand, and Wiltshire.
It is something I am unable to formulate, I lack the intellectual capacity.
Nimble machines with plastic, rubber, foam, horns, and soft artificial fur (wool?) over a clever mechanical structure of gears, cogs, wheels, and complex microcircuitry, with the appropriate preprogrammed computerized responses -- and enough reactional randomness built in for a semblance of realism -- the sole function of which is to provide romantic companionship for healthy young men suffering from symptoms of isolation...........
N o, words utterly fail me.
The device should be calibrated to maintain a constant temperature of 98.6 degrees, or fractionally warmer.
That's very important.
Never-the-less, I am certain that thanks to
I expect we'll see goats everywhere. They're easy to feed, too. Batteries.
The term "performance anxiety" means something else now.
All of this cannot happen soon enough.
Wiltshire is the test-market.
They need prototypes.
Make it happen.
Baa. Baa.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Thursday, September 12, 2013
THE SOLITARY VICE
I haven't cooked rice at home for over three years. Oh sure, I do still eat rice -- a meal just isn't satisfying without it -- but rice prepared at home is associated with family life. Noise and conversation.
Or at the very least, two people involved.
A connection, a couple.
There is no couple. Hasn't been since summer 2010.
Why bother cooking rice for one?
There is nothing less appetizing than rice eaten alone. Nowadays I dine out a lot. At restaurants and chachanteng, the hubbub of others is all around me, and I can discretely observe people interacting.
Truth be told, the presence of strangers can be reassuring.
Yes, rice. But a lot more than just rice.
Men of my age do not get a second chance. No matter how sprightly and full of piss and vinegar we still are. Although apparently we are much sought after on cruise ships, where elderly ladies thirty or more years older avidly wish to dance, and will forgive us our lack of athletic grace.
It's our considerable piss and vinegar.
I do not intend to take a cruise. In fact, knowing what I now know, I shall avoid ports and ships entirely. They are incredibly dangerous places! Ninety percent of all the accidents that can happen to mature pipe-smokers occur on or within mere yards of commodious maritime accommodation!
And besides, smoking is nowadays frowned upon when near people who speak English. They tend to scream a bit, and otherwise loose their cool. Which is very irritating.
Silly buggers.
Hence my frequenting eateries and coffeeshops in Chinatown. There, at least, no one yells rude comments at the wandering pipe-smoker, and sometimes little children stare in fascination. When they grow up, they too will take up such a cool habit. It looks so utterly adventuresome, and classy.
Smart kids.
Something over rice, a cup of milk-tea, and people.
Followed by a pipe, and a solitary walk.
Then over Nob Hill in the fog.
I doubt it can get any better than that.
Piss and vinegar.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Or at the very least, two people involved.
A connection, a couple.
There is no couple. Hasn't been since summer 2010.
Why bother cooking rice for one?
There is nothing less appetizing than rice eaten alone. Nowadays I dine out a lot. At restaurants and chachanteng, the hubbub of others is all around me, and I can discretely observe people interacting.
Truth be told, the presence of strangers can be reassuring.
Yes, rice. But a lot more than just rice.
Men of my age do not get a second chance. No matter how sprightly and full of piss and vinegar we still are. Although apparently we are much sought after on cruise ships, where elderly ladies thirty or more years older avidly wish to dance, and will forgive us our lack of athletic grace.
It's our considerable piss and vinegar.
I do not intend to take a cruise. In fact, knowing what I now know, I shall avoid ports and ships entirely. They are incredibly dangerous places! Ninety percent of all the accidents that can happen to mature pipe-smokers occur on or within mere yards of commodious maritime accommodation!
And besides, smoking is nowadays frowned upon when near people who speak English. They tend to scream a bit, and otherwise loose their cool. Which is very irritating.
Silly buggers.
Hence my frequenting eateries and coffeeshops in Chinatown. There, at least, no one yells rude comments at the wandering pipe-smoker, and sometimes little children stare in fascination. When they grow up, they too will take up such a cool habit. It looks so utterly adventuresome, and classy.
Smart kids.
Something over rice, a cup of milk-tea, and people.
Followed by a pipe, and a solitary walk.
Then over Nob Hill in the fog.
I doubt it can get any better than that.
Piss and vinegar.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
DANES, DARKNESS, DEPRAVITY
Two weeks ago I purchased a tin of Mac Baren's Old Dark Fired. The tin blurb frightened me off, initially, as it promised "a bold flake of dark-fired burleys in a well balanced unity with Flue-cured Virginias."
Sounds simple, and somewhat threatening.
Nicotine mania.
Burley has a high nick content, Virginias are medium-high.
Blithely, as if all was well with the world, the tin blurb continued: "this flake is Hot Pressed, meaning that during the pressing, heat is added by steam to the tobaccos which causes the tobacco to intensify the marrying process giving us a bolder tobacco."
Being a bachelor going on four years now, an intensified marrying process is not what I'm about. Television shows like 'Bridezilla' give me the willies, and the typical white wedding with orchids and groomsmen and bridesmaids wearing lilac makes my gorge rise.
Frankly, the American fascination with train wrecks is obscene, and no amount of envious feeling regarding two young people making the social mistake of their lives diminishes the nausea that big vulgar affairs like precisely that engender.
Affairs should always be small, discreet.
NEVER let her parents know.
I digress.
Bugger marriage, it's for Hello Kitty.
The tin blurb ends with: "the robust, earthy flavour of the dark-fired burleys shines through in the taste, and you will experience a deeply satisfying smoke indeed."
Sounds much better. She got out of her virginal whites and put on an old pair of dungarees. Now she's ploughing the field out back.
The appeal of that image melted my resistance.
Bronzed girly biceps and ruddy cheeks.
It is indeed deeply satisfying.
I've bought more tins.
Just to be fair in my estimation of this delightful Danish farmer's daughter, it behooved me to do a comparative tasting of two other similar products: Peterson's Irish Flake, and Samuel Gawith's Bracken Flake.
Both are considered nicotine bullies.
All three products are reviewed below.
HH OLD DARK FIRED
By Mac Baren Tobacco.
A rich and fecund reek as soon as you open the tin, and neat narrow strips of dark flake are presented to view once you peal back the gold foil. This stuff smells luscious.
A little rubbing to render it suitable for the pipe, a slight dry, then stuff and light up.
It is surprisingly mild. Easy on the tongue, renders down without complaint to a fine powdery ash, which is pale grey-white. It is such an easy smoke that one finds oneself reaching for the tin several times a day, rather than dimsumming one's way through the smorgasbord on top of the books near the bed.
Soon I'll have to crack another tin.
IRISH FLAKE
Made exclusively for Peterson of Dublin.
Those damned Irishmen have hair growing inside their mouths, and this blogger is more aware than ever of his own balls. Or is that my own mortality? I'm presently on the floor. And quite naked.
I bought over four dozen tins of this stuff back in 2008. This is the first tin that I've opened in ages. I had forgotten that it left me weeping for my mommy five years ago July.
Normally I do not review tobacco while in my birthday suit; it isn't dignified. This nicely matured dark flake smells like a superior aftershave: profoundly masculine and butch. I'm used to strong tobaccos, but this stuff is for truck drivers.
Enjoyable, though. Just not something for every week. It may take a while before this tin is finished.
BRACKEN FLAKE - RICH & DARK
A product of the House of Samuel Gawith & Co.
A tin from 2010. Stinky and rich, like a peat bog. Good thing I'm naked.
Approach this flake, and the nudist smoking it, with caution.
This is remarkably smooth and sweet-tempered for such a complex and disturbed tobacco. Rich, musty, earthy, and rather unpleasant at first whiff of an adventurous nose over the open tin. It reminds me of my gym bag decades ago at high school. After an entire week of sitting in the locker.
But it improves. No, the tin odour never ends up smelling like roses. However it is beguiling stuff to smoke. It has a wonderful velvety mouthfeel that seems sweeter than it is, mesmerizing and therapeutic. Probably not a good tobacco before breakfast, but I don't really care.
The world seems sunnier while smoking this.
It has a goodly nicotine whompus.
I think I'll remain nude.
Itzsscomfy!
AFTERTHOUGHTS
Quite likely all three tobaccos are topped, in the case of the Gawith near-definitely so. Not unlike St. Bruno, and similar blends.
The Mac Baren product is the most girlish of the three, almost innocent and maidenly. A very nice smoke.
The Gawith is a bit more knowing, but remarkably clean. A stout woman of sensible sexual habits.
The Peterson is a flirtation with someone who may have whips.
You might not want to go home with her.
No, I do not regret acquiring so many tins of the Peterson flake. It's a good product despite being a hairy dangerous old fruit, and in a few more years I may wish to get naked again.
Except this time, I'll eat breakfast first.
Depravity requires a sound meal.
I've got enough Gawith of various types to last me a very long time. It gives me a feeling of profound satisfaction to know that. Several tins of Bracken.
The HH Mac Baren Old Dark Fired is lovely stuff.
I shall smoke it fairly often going forward.
Probably several 100 Gr. tins a year.
Thank you, Danish freaks.
I like your sister.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Sounds simple, and somewhat threatening.
Nicotine mania.
Burley has a high nick content, Virginias are medium-high.
Blithely, as if all was well with the world, the tin blurb continued: "this flake is Hot Pressed, meaning that during the pressing, heat is added by steam to the tobaccos which causes the tobacco to intensify the marrying process giving us a bolder tobacco."
Being a bachelor going on four years now, an intensified marrying process is not what I'm about. Television shows like 'Bridezilla' give me the willies, and the typical white wedding with orchids and groomsmen and bridesmaids wearing lilac makes my gorge rise.
Frankly, the American fascination with train wrecks is obscene, and no amount of envious feeling regarding two young people making the social mistake of their lives diminishes the nausea that big vulgar affairs like precisely that engender.
Affairs should always be small, discreet.
NEVER let her parents know.
I digress.
Bugger marriage, it's for Hello Kitty.
The tin blurb ends with: "the robust, earthy flavour of the dark-fired burleys shines through in the taste, and you will experience a deeply satisfying smoke indeed."
Sounds much better. She got out of her virginal whites and put on an old pair of dungarees. Now she's ploughing the field out back.
The appeal of that image melted my resistance.
Bronzed girly biceps and ruddy cheeks.
It is indeed deeply satisfying.
I've bought more tins.
Just to be fair in my estimation of this delightful Danish farmer's daughter, it behooved me to do a comparative tasting of two other similar products: Peterson's Irish Flake, and Samuel Gawith's Bracken Flake.
Both are considered nicotine bullies.
All three products are reviewed below.
HH OLD DARK FIRED
By Mac Baren Tobacco.
A rich and fecund reek as soon as you open the tin, and neat narrow strips of dark flake are presented to view once you peal back the gold foil. This stuff smells luscious.
A little rubbing to render it suitable for the pipe, a slight dry, then stuff and light up.
It is surprisingly mild. Easy on the tongue, renders down without complaint to a fine powdery ash, which is pale grey-white. It is such an easy smoke that one finds oneself reaching for the tin several times a day, rather than dimsumming one's way through the smorgasbord on top of the books near the bed.
Soon I'll have to crack another tin.
IRISH FLAKE
Made exclusively for Peterson of Dublin.
Those damned Irishmen have hair growing inside their mouths, and this blogger is more aware than ever of his own balls. Or is that my own mortality? I'm presently on the floor. And quite naked.
I bought over four dozen tins of this stuff back in 2008. This is the first tin that I've opened in ages. I had forgotten that it left me weeping for my mommy five years ago July.
Normally I do not review tobacco while in my birthday suit; it isn't dignified. This nicely matured dark flake smells like a superior aftershave: profoundly masculine and butch. I'm used to strong tobaccos, but this stuff is for truck drivers.
Enjoyable, though. Just not something for every week. It may take a while before this tin is finished.
BRACKEN FLAKE - RICH & DARK
A product of the House of Samuel Gawith & Co.
A tin from 2010. Stinky and rich, like a peat bog. Good thing I'm naked.
Approach this flake, and the nudist smoking it, with caution.
This is remarkably smooth and sweet-tempered for such a complex and disturbed tobacco. Rich, musty, earthy, and rather unpleasant at first whiff of an adventurous nose over the open tin. It reminds me of my gym bag decades ago at high school. After an entire week of sitting in the locker.
But it improves. No, the tin odour never ends up smelling like roses. However it is beguiling stuff to smoke. It has a wonderful velvety mouthfeel that seems sweeter than it is, mesmerizing and therapeutic. Probably not a good tobacco before breakfast, but I don't really care.
The world seems sunnier while smoking this.
It has a goodly nicotine whompus.
I think I'll remain nude.
Itzsscomfy!
AFTERTHOUGHTS
Quite likely all three tobaccos are topped, in the case of the Gawith near-definitely so. Not unlike St. Bruno, and similar blends.
The Mac Baren product is the most girlish of the three, almost innocent and maidenly. A very nice smoke.
The Gawith is a bit more knowing, but remarkably clean. A stout woman of sensible sexual habits.
The Peterson is a flirtation with someone who may have whips.
You might not want to go home with her.
No, I do not regret acquiring so many tins of the Peterson flake. It's a good product despite being a hairy dangerous old fruit, and in a few more years I may wish to get naked again.
Except this time, I'll eat breakfast first.
Depravity requires a sound meal.
I've got enough Gawith of various types to last me a very long time. It gives me a feeling of profound satisfaction to know that. Several tins of Bracken.
The HH Mac Baren Old Dark Fired is lovely stuff.
I shall smoke it fairly often going forward.
Probably several 100 Gr. tins a year.
Thank you, Danish freaks.
I like your sister.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
THE RATIONAL APPROACH TO THE SYRIAN PROBLEM
There are several blogs that I read on a regular basis. Many of them used to post updates daily, but in the past three or four years they've faded a bit -- rehashing everything one has already expressed is too close to talking with your psychiatrist, one fears that the dear bearded doctor may have attention deficit disorder at this point -- and it is conceivable that some of them have simply tired of the routine of exposing their innermost thoughts or underwear for a sometimes less than attentive audience.
But they are still worth rereading, and going back and rediscovering stuff that you had already forgotten about.
Among the frequent grind:
Dovbear:
http://dovbear.blogspot.com/.
A thought-provoking take on Judaism and matters relating to orthodoxy. Great place to read extensive and intelligent discussions.
Midianite Manna:
http://www.midianitemanna.blogspot.com/.
Also thought-provoking, but for the past several months she's been in a funk. We hope she recovers. Miss her.
The Search for Emes:
http://search-for-emes.blogspot.com/.
Quirky, insightful, and often a provider of interesting ideas or music.
The Muqata:
http://muqata.blogspot.com/.
Realistic ire about the Middle East, with intelligent anger at times. Good. Scotch whisky is mentioned.
Dutch Pipesmoker:
http://dutchpipesmoker.wordpress.com/.
In-depth investigation of a gentle habit that appeals to intelligent men and women. Written in English. Good stuff.
And Treppenwitz:
http://www.treppenwitz.com/.
Meandering, often with excellent points, about raising kids in Israel, American peculiarities, sometimes linguistic stuff, and sharp cogent remarks about Israel's neighbors and their rank incompetence at being civilized, or their inability to reasonably adhere to intelligent human behavioural standards.
Concerning Syria, which represents all the foulest and most depraved tendencies of the Arab world let loose, Treppenwitz recently had this to say: "They have no trouble slaughtering one another at the drop of a hat when the mood strikes them."
In fact, I will quote his entire essay, because it accords with what I myself feel about the imbroglio that the United States may yet soon engage upon.
Begin cite:
COWARDS
I find it telling that the Arab League and Turkey (many of whom receive sizeable military aid/equipment packages from the US and other western countries), are coming out strongly in favor of a US military attack on Syria... but have no intention of lifting a finger to help.
In fact, Turkey's Prime Minister has made several public statements to the effect that a few days of firing missiles at military targets won't be enough. He wants the US to intervene militarily to remove the Assad regime.
My question is this:
Why the hell do the US and other western powers give military aid to these clowns? Why do Turkey, Egypt and Saudi Arabia have the latest jet fighters and helicopters provided by the US and Europe. Why do these countries have well-equipped armies, navies and air forces on someone else's dime if there is no expectation that when push comes to shove, they will join a coalition led by their benefactor(s)?
I've heard the old saw that 'It isn't a reasonable or ethical request to expect Muslim countries to join a US attack on another Muslim country!'
Oh really? Why not?!
Have we really all bought into their bullsh*t that Muslims are some sort of special class of humans, and to expect them to take a stand against one of their own would be tantamount to fratricide?!
Puleeze! They have no trouble slaughtering one another at the drop of a hat when the mood strikes them.
Are we really saying that we have zero expectations of these countries after all that has been done for them? Are we really okay with them, once again, standing by like some schoolyard mob pushing the hapless combatants forward, yelling, "Fight, fight, fight...", all the while staying safely on the sidelines and enjoying the spectacle?
I think the time has come for the western powers - particularly the US - to take a close look at who they supply with military aid, and make that aid contingent upon rolling up their sleeves and providing some support (troops, planes, ships, airfields, refueling tankers, intelligence, etc.), whenever a fight breaks out.
Fail to step up just once? Kiss that fat aid check good-bye.
I don't really care that this risks pushing them into the sphere of influence of Russia or China. I'd rather Russia and China be bled dry by these leeches.
Bottom line: If these countries aren't willing to vote with the west at the UN... side with the west on global issues... share their oil with the west at an equitable price...and above all, put some skin in the game when the west really needs them to have our back... they aren't really in the west's sphere of influence in the first place, now are they?
End cite.
It's time that the Turks and Arabs stick out their necks. Instead of channeling their jaw-flapping through their manipulators at the various embassies in Washington.
It's also time that America's politicians show some spine, and hold Arab and Turk feet to the fire.
Rather than having another canapé and cocktail, and telling Bandar Bin Dingbat that his mustache is so handsome, why, he looks just like Omar Sharif!
It doesn't seem too much to ask.
Let the Arab world make a stab at solving its own problems. I'm sure they'll do it with the same aplomb and capability that they've shown in the past. Or is that just a talent for mayhem and proxy-slaughter?
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
But they are still worth rereading, and going back and rediscovering stuff that you had already forgotten about.
Among the frequent grind:
Dovbear:
http://dovbear.blogspot.com/.
A thought-provoking take on Judaism and matters relating to orthodoxy. Great place to read extensive and intelligent discussions.
Midianite Manna:
http://www.midianitemanna.blogspot.com/.
Also thought-provoking, but for the past several months she's been in a funk. We hope she recovers. Miss her.
The Search for Emes:
http://search-for-emes.blogspot.com/.
Quirky, insightful, and often a provider of interesting ideas or music.
The Muqata:
http://muqata.blogspot.com/.
Realistic ire about the Middle East, with intelligent anger at times. Good. Scotch whisky is mentioned.
Dutch Pipesmoker:
http://dutchpipesmoker.wordpress.com/.
In-depth investigation of a gentle habit that appeals to intelligent men and women. Written in English. Good stuff.
And Treppenwitz:
http://www.treppenwitz.com/.
Meandering, often with excellent points, about raising kids in Israel, American peculiarities, sometimes linguistic stuff, and sharp cogent remarks about Israel's neighbors and their rank incompetence at being civilized, or their inability to reasonably adhere to intelligent human behavioural standards.
Concerning Syria, which represents all the foulest and most depraved tendencies of the Arab world let loose, Treppenwitz recently had this to say: "They have no trouble slaughtering one another at the drop of a hat when the mood strikes them."
In fact, I will quote his entire essay, because it accords with what I myself feel about the imbroglio that the United States may yet soon engage upon.
Begin cite:
COWARDS
I find it telling that the Arab League and Turkey (many of whom receive sizeable military aid/equipment packages from the US and other western countries), are coming out strongly in favor of a US military attack on Syria... but have no intention of lifting a finger to help.
In fact, Turkey's Prime Minister has made several public statements to the effect that a few days of firing missiles at military targets won't be enough. He wants the US to intervene militarily to remove the Assad regime.
My question is this:
Why the hell do the US and other western powers give military aid to these clowns? Why do Turkey, Egypt and Saudi Arabia have the latest jet fighters and helicopters provided by the US and Europe. Why do these countries have well-equipped armies, navies and air forces on someone else's dime if there is no expectation that when push comes to shove, they will join a coalition led by their benefactor(s)?
I've heard the old saw that 'It isn't a reasonable or ethical request to expect Muslim countries to join a US attack on another Muslim country!'
Oh really? Why not?!
Have we really all bought into their bullsh*t that Muslims are some sort of special class of humans, and to expect them to take a stand against one of their own would be tantamount to fratricide?!
Puleeze! They have no trouble slaughtering one another at the drop of a hat when the mood strikes them.
Are we really saying that we have zero expectations of these countries after all that has been done for them? Are we really okay with them, once again, standing by like some schoolyard mob pushing the hapless combatants forward, yelling, "Fight, fight, fight...", all the while staying safely on the sidelines and enjoying the spectacle?
I think the time has come for the western powers - particularly the US - to take a close look at who they supply with military aid, and make that aid contingent upon rolling up their sleeves and providing some support (troops, planes, ships, airfields, refueling tankers, intelligence, etc.), whenever a fight breaks out.
Fail to step up just once? Kiss that fat aid check good-bye.
I don't really care that this risks pushing them into the sphere of influence of Russia or China. I'd rather Russia and China be bled dry by these leeches.
Bottom line: If these countries aren't willing to vote with the west at the UN... side with the west on global issues... share their oil with the west at an equitable price...and above all, put some skin in the game when the west really needs them to have our back... they aren't really in the west's sphere of influence in the first place, now are they?
End cite.
It's time that the Turks and Arabs stick out their necks. Instead of channeling their jaw-flapping through their manipulators at the various embassies in Washington.
It's also time that America's politicians show some spine, and hold Arab and Turk feet to the fire.
Rather than having another canapé and cocktail, and telling Bandar Bin Dingbat that his mustache is so handsome, why, he looks just like Omar Sharif!
It doesn't seem too much to ask.
Let the Arab world make a stab at solving its own problems. I'm sure they'll do it with the same aplomb and capability that they've shown in the past. Or is that just a talent for mayhem and proxy-slaughter?
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
ANGST AND SQUIRRELS
There are some war scenes that are indelibly imprinted on the viewer's mind. They replay at dark hours of the night, when the silence of the city lets the mind wander. It's a delayed reaction.
Post-traumatic stress, if you will.
When it's utterly quiet, I think of tanks.
ARIGATOU = DANKE!
[Source: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=chXK5iD_ELs#t=244.]
As Frederick Douglas once famously said: "a battle lost or won is easily described, understood, and appreciated, but the moral growth of a great nation requires reflection, as well as observation, to appreciate it."
Inspiring.
War is hell, comrade.
Rotate gun, and destroy the village.
Okay, and now a freebie for the Amphibian and e-kvetcher, because they appreciate the absurdity of it all.
*PAM *PAM *PAM!
[Source: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AlsvLZvAkOg.]
Please note: all Girls und Panzer episodes are obligatory viewing at West Point. They contribute to the growth of a well-rounded military officer, who is emotionally stable.
Or at the very least, a cheerful squirrel.
No angst.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Post-traumatic stress, if you will.
When it's utterly quiet, I think of tanks.
ARIGATOU = DANKE!
[Source: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=chXK5iD_ELs#t=244.]
As Frederick Douglas once famously said: "a battle lost or won is easily described, understood, and appreciated, but the moral growth of a great nation requires reflection, as well as observation, to appreciate it."
Inspiring.
War is hell, comrade.
Rotate gun, and destroy the village.
Okay, and now a freebie for the Amphibian and e-kvetcher, because they appreciate the absurdity of it all.
*PAM *PAM *PAM!
[Source: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AlsvLZvAkOg.]
Please note: all Girls und Panzer episodes are obligatory viewing at West Point. They contribute to the growth of a well-rounded military officer, who is emotionally stable.
Or at the very least, a cheerful squirrel.
No angst.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
REMOVE WITH RIGOUR
Some spam comments consist of such a simple unchanging message that, seeing it only once, you are struck by the absurdity of the attempt, and each time it crops up you marvel again. At times especially by its juxtaposition with the subject of the post underneath appended, and the link to which the spamberger wishes to direct you.
One such, cropping up regularly, is the phrase: "we are a group of volunteers starting a new scheme in our community". It goes on to say that you, the blogger, have been a great help, the information you provided was invaluable to them and their brand spanking new scheme, and really you should visit their site, which furthers the noble aims that unite you with them. Share data, advance the cause, march together toward a glorious future, achieving a common goal.
Such as Brazilian waxing in Singapore.
If that's the 'new volunteer scheme in their community', they live in a fascinating neighborhood. Truly. One which may have 'issues'.
I will grudgingly admit that communal Brazilian waxing, especially of Singaporeans, is a brilliant concept that gives me a prickly thrill.
Which is a feeling that I find hard to live with.
But I fail to see how it relates to my subject.
I myself have waxed - wroth at times, eloquent I hope, and both lyrical and mildly amusing when inspired. But never Brazil.
"We have a new scheme in our community!"
Brazilian waxing, for those still unaware, is the forceful yanking out of hair on sensitive regions (such as, hypothetically, the armpits) to create either a tighter patch of dark growth with clearly defined boundaries, perhaps a clever design -- hearts, clubs, diamonds, and the Jack of Spades, for poker-playing women -- or the removal of strays, even complete defoliation and devastation like napalm on a tropical jungle.
Consider, for instance, the keen aesthetic displeasure that your fellow women feel when they observe your European armpit hair erupting forth from the sleeves of your stylish short-sleeved blouse.
That's wrong, right? Naturally you do not want to disquiet them.
So, as a selfless act, an altruistic sacrifice, you visit the community centre in your Singaporean housing estate, and have a volunteer apply hot wax to your pits, put a strip of cloth over it, wait until it hardens, then rip with great force in the direction that the follicles point, removing huge clumps of your barbed-wire-like armpit shrubbery. The process gets repeated till not a single hair is left. None will grow back for at least two weeks.
Or maybe you have them sculpt a discreet punctuation.
Perhaps a question mark in one pit.
Semi-colon in the other.
Clever!
Care to guess where the exclamation mark is?
Conceivably it could also be done with chest-hair for males.
It's Singapore, so I'm thinking Hello Kitty.
Cute, chic, and friendly.
It's been nearly three decades since I visited Singapore. The place has changed. Maybe I should go back sometime.
But first, a Brazilian wax.
Polka dots.
I have NO idea why it's called "Brazilian waxing". All I can think of is that Brazilians must be excessively hairy in parts. Especially their pits. They probably put European women to shame.
There's a colony of them in Singapore.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
One such, cropping up regularly, is the phrase: "we are a group of volunteers starting a new scheme in our community". It goes on to say that you, the blogger, have been a great help, the information you provided was invaluable to them and their brand spanking new scheme, and really you should visit their site, which furthers the noble aims that unite you with them. Share data, advance the cause, march together toward a glorious future, achieving a common goal.
Such as Brazilian waxing in Singapore.
If that's the 'new volunteer scheme in their community', they live in a fascinating neighborhood. Truly. One which may have 'issues'.
I will grudgingly admit that communal Brazilian waxing, especially of Singaporeans, is a brilliant concept that gives me a prickly thrill.
Which is a feeling that I find hard to live with.
But I fail to see how it relates to my subject.
I myself have waxed - wroth at times, eloquent I hope, and both lyrical and mildly amusing when inspired. But never Brazil.
"We have a new scheme in our community!"
Brazilian waxing, for those still unaware, is the forceful yanking out of hair on sensitive regions (such as, hypothetically, the armpits) to create either a tighter patch of dark growth with clearly defined boundaries, perhaps a clever design -- hearts, clubs, diamonds, and the Jack of Spades, for poker-playing women -- or the removal of strays, even complete defoliation and devastation like napalm on a tropical jungle.
Consider, for instance, the keen aesthetic displeasure that your fellow women feel when they observe your European armpit hair erupting forth from the sleeves of your stylish short-sleeved blouse.
That's wrong, right? Naturally you do not want to disquiet them.
So, as a selfless act, an altruistic sacrifice, you visit the community centre in your Singaporean housing estate, and have a volunteer apply hot wax to your pits, put a strip of cloth over it, wait until it hardens, then rip with great force in the direction that the follicles point, removing huge clumps of your barbed-wire-like armpit shrubbery. The process gets repeated till not a single hair is left. None will grow back for at least two weeks.
Or maybe you have them sculpt a discreet punctuation.
Perhaps a question mark in one pit.
Semi-colon in the other.
Clever!
Care to guess where the exclamation mark is?
Conceivably it could also be done with chest-hair for males.
It's Singapore, so I'm thinking Hello Kitty.
Cute, chic, and friendly.
It's been nearly three decades since I visited Singapore. The place has changed. Maybe I should go back sometime.
But first, a Brazilian wax.
Polka dots.
I have NO idea why it's called "Brazilian waxing". All I can think of is that Brazilians must be excessively hairy in parts. Especially their pits. They probably put European women to shame.
There's a colony of them in Singapore.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Monday, September 09, 2013
JUST LEAD AND STEEL
The message, loud and clear, from the United States administration to the government of Bashar Assad, is a firm no-nonsense demand that he continue murdering his own people with conventional weapons.
The world will NOT allow him to kill with chemistry. All slaughter in Syria must be done the old-fashioned way, no exceptions.
Bullets and explosives only, please.
Oh and cutting throats. Which is rather inefficient, very old-school, but traditional. The United States and France respect tradition.
What Kerry, Obama, and François Gérard Georges Nicolas Hollande have cynically realized is that in the main, most citizens are concerned about environmental impact. The world is a very polluted place. Trace elements of chemical weapons will poison the ground for years after all evidence of its victims' demise have faded, long after their lives have become a distant and uncherished memory.
It's VERY San Francisco of them.
Greenness is next to godliness.
Stop polluting, re-use, recycle.
Gotta to begin somewhere.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
The world will NOT allow him to kill with chemistry. All slaughter in Syria must be done the old-fashioned way, no exceptions.
Bullets and explosives only, please.
Oh and cutting throats. Which is rather inefficient, very old-school, but traditional. The United States and France respect tradition.
What Kerry, Obama, and François Gérard Georges Nicolas Hollande have cynically realized is that in the main, most citizens are concerned about environmental impact. The world is a very polluted place. Trace elements of chemical weapons will poison the ground for years after all evidence of its victims' demise have faded, long after their lives have become a distant and uncherished memory.
It's VERY San Francisco of them.
Greenness is next to godliness.
Stop polluting, re-use, recycle.
Gotta to begin somewhere.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Sunday, September 08, 2013
CREAMY WEEKEND
Let's move back in time, shall we? Dinner this evening consisted of rotini noodles with a jalapeño stirfry, the pan juices extended with yoghurt.
There were other chilies, of varying degrees of heat, in the dish.
It was very good.
No, I don't think it will prove Mexican-Heartwarming. Jalapeños are a lovely vegetable, and may also be served as salad with a simple French dressing. Or just yoghurt.
Today's teatime pick-me-up was drinkable yoghurt. Plus a cuppa.
Lunch, in mid-afternoon, was a sandwich and drinkable yoghurt.
As well as a double-bagger. Third one today. Hydration, eh.
Breakfast was (wait for it) drinkable yoghurt.
Before another caffeinated beverage.
Several cups daily.
Yesterday evening I had steamed meat patty and saltfish claypot rice in Chinatown. A whole pot of Oolong, and a big steaming mug of Hong Kong style milk-tea. But no yoghurt, as the restaurant does not have any. The corner-of-the-eye physical appeal of the waitress more than makes up for that. A small woman, very girlish, sparkling eyes.
And this youthfully middle-aged perv just loves small hands and bouncy ponytails . Oh gracious yes.
It was a very good dinner.
Yesterday's lunch, however, did include drinkable yoghurt.
Two bottles - one strawberry, one mango.
Because I knew dinner wouldn't.
Friday night's snackiepoo was a peanut butter sandwich with meaty parts. And plenty of chopped chilies. When you've run out of mayonnaise, substituting a smooth blend of yoghurt and peanut butter is not as good an idea as it might first seem. Probably healthier, but there are good reasons why nutritionists are curiously bad chefs. Should've omitted the yoghurt.
My intestinal flora and fauna are fine.
Thriving, in fact.
But, seeing as I restored ten pipes this weekend -- three Charatans, two Stanwells, one Tillshead, one Nording, and three Savinelli Punto Oros -- my hands are not fine. My right hand in particular feels like the devil herself shat it out. Six blisters, roughened skin, and sore finger tips.
The nail on the index finger feels bruisy and tight.
The joints are stiffish, and the muscles achy.
Those ten pipes are now spic and span.
No more gunk, tar, and green crap.
Smokable again. And pretty.
Still. Very sore hands.
I blame yoghurt.
Should've had more chilies, less yoghurt, and used more alcohol on the pipes. Plus lots more tea. Tea is good for you, it flushes out the toxins.
But my heavens those pipes are looking very fine now.
Even got the crud-buildup out of the rims of the sandblasts.
One of those Charatans is a really beauty.
I might even buy it myself.
That waitress would look dynamite smoking it.
It's just a thought.
Mmmm, yoghurt.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
There were other chilies, of varying degrees of heat, in the dish.
It was very good.
No, I don't think it will prove Mexican-Heartwarming. Jalapeños are a lovely vegetable, and may also be served as salad with a simple French dressing. Or just yoghurt.
Today's teatime pick-me-up was drinkable yoghurt. Plus a cuppa.
Lunch, in mid-afternoon, was a sandwich and drinkable yoghurt.
As well as a double-bagger. Third one today. Hydration, eh.
Breakfast was (wait for it) drinkable yoghurt.
Before another caffeinated beverage.
Several cups daily.
Yesterday evening I had steamed meat patty and saltfish claypot rice in Chinatown. A whole pot of Oolong, and a big steaming mug of Hong Kong style milk-tea. But no yoghurt, as the restaurant does not have any. The corner-of-the-eye physical appeal of the waitress more than makes up for that. A small woman, very girlish, sparkling eyes.
And this youthfully middle-aged perv just loves small hands and bouncy ponytails . Oh gracious yes.
It was a very good dinner.
Yesterday's lunch, however, did include drinkable yoghurt.
Two bottles - one strawberry, one mango.
Because I knew dinner wouldn't.
Friday night's snackiepoo was a peanut butter sandwich with meaty parts. And plenty of chopped chilies. When you've run out of mayonnaise, substituting a smooth blend of yoghurt and peanut butter is not as good an idea as it might first seem. Probably healthier, but there are good reasons why nutritionists are curiously bad chefs. Should've omitted the yoghurt.
My intestinal flora and fauna are fine.
Thriving, in fact.
But, seeing as I restored ten pipes this weekend -- three Charatans, two Stanwells, one Tillshead, one Nording, and three Savinelli Punto Oros -- my hands are not fine. My right hand in particular feels like the devil herself shat it out. Six blisters, roughened skin, and sore finger tips.
The nail on the index finger feels bruisy and tight.
The joints are stiffish, and the muscles achy.
Those ten pipes are now spic and span.
No more gunk, tar, and green crap.
Smokable again. And pretty.
Still. Very sore hands.
I blame yoghurt.
Should've had more chilies, less yoghurt, and used more alcohol on the pipes. Plus lots more tea. Tea is good for you, it flushes out the toxins.
But my heavens those pipes are looking very fine now.
Even got the crud-buildup out of the rims of the sandblasts.
One of those Charatans is a really beauty.
I might even buy it myself.
That waitress would look dynamite smoking it.
It's just a thought.
Mmmm, yoghurt.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
THE LIFE STYLE OF THE SKUNK
There's nothing quite like strong coffee and a bowlful of something heavy on Latakia tobacco early in the morning. Except, of course, that when one lives with other people, there are likely to be loud indignant squawks. The outrage is palpable. It's Sunday, for creep sakes! Why are you making the world a far worse place, and so early in the morning too! Man, that stuff is foul, take it outside, go to the abandoned church up the street, blow your ghastly hell-fumes there!
And take that corncob out of your mouth.
You look utterlyblessed ridiculous.
Let me tell you where to put it.
I am at present breaking-in a Missouri Meerschaum (corncob) with strong Latakia blends.
Totally delicious, exquisite and refined. I am having a blast, but my apartment-mate thinks that I am a pervert. Yes, she's not my significant other, merely a small opinionated forest creature (errrm, Cantonese American female) with whom I live, and not being in any way romantically involved with her I should probably not care too much about the smells and her vociferous objections.
A wife or a girlfriend should be heard. It is conceivable that their opinion about tobacco habits might have some weight. Not likely, especially if they are non-smokers, but possible. Remotely.
They are graciously given a voice, though not a veto.
Apartment mates and concerned neighbors, however, are not really relevant. Especially not the neighbors, as in San Francisco these are usually venomous sodding bastard anti-smoking fanatics, whose fragile peace of mind is disturbed by the merest trace of tobacco, foods that aren't tofu, clouds of war upon the horizon, and anyone having any fun at all.
Leastways fun of which they do not approve.
Recycling is acceptable fun.
So is weeping.
Apartment mates, if well-chosen, are somewhat more important than that. Slightly. These aren't her lungs and nostrils, but I will concede that her opinions matter to me. She's a very sweet girl, even if she is seeing a person of whom I disapprove, and her mother would also if the old harridan were sentient (instead of comatose in an assisted care facility).
When the apartment mate is NOT around, I firmly close the door to her room, open up windows, and stink like a maniac. Mmmmmm, Latakia! Virginia! Turkish! Maryland! And pimp - whore- chesthair Burley! So in heaven!
Three or four hours of airing out with plenty of ventilation, and she won't notice a darn thing. She usually does not return until after seven in the evening.
But, unfortunately, she's always around early in the morning.
Which is really when I keenly wish to stink.
I have great self-control.
At this moment, I am saintly, and do not yet smell.
Soon, babies, soon.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
And take that corncob out of your mouth.
You look utterly
Let me tell you where to put it.
I am at present breaking-in a Missouri Meerschaum (corncob) with strong Latakia blends.
Totally delicious, exquisite and refined. I am having a blast, but my apartment-mate thinks that I am a pervert. Yes, she's not my significant other, merely a small opinionated forest creature (errrm, Cantonese American female) with whom I live, and not being in any way romantically involved with her I should probably not care too much about the smells and her vociferous objections.
A wife or a girlfriend should be heard. It is conceivable that their opinion about tobacco habits might have some weight. Not likely, especially if they are non-smokers, but possible. Remotely.
They are graciously given a voice, though not a veto.
Apartment mates and concerned neighbors, however, are not really relevant. Especially not the neighbors, as in San Francisco these are usually venomous sodding bastard anti-smoking fanatics, whose fragile peace of mind is disturbed by the merest trace of tobacco, foods that aren't tofu, clouds of war upon the horizon, and anyone having any fun at all.
Leastways fun of which they do not approve.
Recycling is acceptable fun.
So is weeping.
Apartment mates, if well-chosen, are somewhat more important than that. Slightly. These aren't her lungs and nostrils, but I will concede that her opinions matter to me. She's a very sweet girl, even if she is seeing a person of whom I disapprove, and her mother would also if the old harridan were sentient (instead of comatose in an assisted care facility).
When the apartment mate is NOT around, I firmly close the door to her room, open up windows, and stink like a maniac. Mmmmmm, Latakia! Virginia! Turkish! Maryland! And pimp - whore- chesthair Burley! So in heaven!
Three or four hours of airing out with plenty of ventilation, and she won't notice a darn thing. She usually does not return until after seven in the evening.
But, unfortunately, she's always around early in the morning.
Which is really when I keenly wish to stink.
I have great self-control.
At this moment, I am saintly, and do not yet smell.
Soon, babies, soon.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Saturday, September 07, 2013
SUCCULENT CHINESE MEAL
Mail received from an old friend:
Quote:
Hello Atboth, The degree of aplomb this feller uses when standing up to the man is pretty impressive and I figure you'd support him as much as I do. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pEsZkTTgydc.
How are things out your way? I'm still hacking at the bushes and working on a few start ups at the same time...much to the chagrin of my financial planner.
I see your blog is lovely as ever and you haven't lost your gift of identifying, ruffling and smoothing feathers...all at the same time.
What part of town are you in these days?
If you're anywhere near a watering hole it would make sense to grab a drink sometime soon.
Hope all is well,
------BOLTS
End quote.
A FITTING TRIBUTE TO ASIAN CUISINE!
I keenly appreciate the video that 'Bolts' sent. It's like watching Monty Python. Perhaps an episode that went awry, and necessitated an urgent visit from the authorities.
Who knew that eating Chinese food was offensive?
I do it all the time.
Anent the statement by the gentleman above, please refrain (*) from any speculation about the state or condition of my nosey parker. It is not presently germane, and probably won't be even if I'm arrested.
We aren't in Australia.
I have an inexplicable yen for eggrolls.
(*) If you are an innocent randy miss, feel free to speculate, however. There is no way I can stop you (nor would I even try). And I commend both your deliciously filthy mind as well as your intellectual curiosity. It is Saturday night.
Perhaps you are bored?
Alas!
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Quote:
Hello Atboth, The degree of aplomb this feller uses when standing up to the man is pretty impressive and I figure you'd support him as much as I do. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pEsZkTTgydc.
How are things out your way? I'm still hacking at the bushes and working on a few start ups at the same time...much to the chagrin of my financial planner.
I see your blog is lovely as ever and you haven't lost your gift of identifying, ruffling and smoothing feathers...all at the same time.
What part of town are you in these days?
If you're anywhere near a watering hole it would make sense to grab a drink sometime soon.
Hope all is well,
------BOLTS
End quote.
A FITTING TRIBUTE TO ASIAN CUISINE!
I keenly appreciate the video that 'Bolts' sent. It's like watching Monty Python. Perhaps an episode that went awry, and necessitated an urgent visit from the authorities.
Who knew that eating Chinese food was offensive?
I do it all the time.
Anent the statement by the gentleman above, please refrain (*) from any speculation about the state or condition of my nosey parker. It is not presently germane, and probably won't be even if I'm arrested.
We aren't in Australia.
I have an inexplicable yen for eggrolls.
(*) If you are an innocent randy miss, feel free to speculate, however. There is no way I can stop you (nor would I even try). And I commend both your deliciously filthy mind as well as your intellectual curiosity. It is Saturday night.
Perhaps you are bored?
Alas!
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
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