A friend asked wether a recently Facebook-posted illustration was self-representational and done with tobacco ashes. Naturally I could not resist responding with an entirely straightface, seriously, and seemingly oblivious to her jest.
Dry brush calligraphy, seal-script version of 華 。A variant shows a closer derivation from the ancient form: 䔢。Pronounced 'waa' (Cantonese). Representing, anciently, pistil and stamen plus petals (a flower), hence, by extension and further linguistic development: flowery, elegant, ornate, and then by a further usage development over the centuries an appellation for China. Distantly ablautive of 夏 (Xia, 'haa'), which in the narrow sense means 'summer', and because it was the name of one of the dynasties (circa four thousand years ago) is also used for China and the Chinese. A variant of 夏 is 夓。Which in addition to the hand underneath holding the vessel upward, has hands on the side indicating a plurality of celebrants at a ritual, and hence a cooperative or community event. 華 is filed under the grass radical (艸 'chou') in the dictionary. Because it got 'borrowed' for other meanings, 花 ('faa') became the more common term for flower. In Mandarin they still sound nearly the same. And note that a variant of 花 wich has the same strokes in the same order (芲) is somewhat confusing to the modern mainlander, because what looks like the phonetic element (仑) is pronounced 'luen', rather than 'faa' (化 "transform"). 仑 is, it seems, only used as a phonetic, an easy script version of 侖 ('luen'; "logical order", "arrangement").
Which is the right-hand part of this: 棆 ('luen'; "camphor" [archaic]).
The two characters in question:
It is likely that I'll end up doing a seal-script version of 夓 soon; it seems interesting and appropriate or germaine, and I kind of feel obligated.
It's a bit Aspy. So yeah, um.
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Warning: May contain traces of soy, wheat, lecithin and tree nuts. That you are here
strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton.
And that you might like cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.
Thursday, May 19, 2022
NOT VERY FAR AT ALL
Remembered from a few years ago in Spring, and elsewhere: A pot of tea, the courtyard under the overhang, a fresh tin of tobacco, and a quiet afternoon playing hooky.
With a dense book about geology.
Contrast this with an ideal afternoon in an imaginary universe: Malcolm silently closed the library doors behind him, opened the French doors to the terrace, and slid the volumes of the encyclopedia forward to reach behind for the sherry. Along with the dizzy romance novel, the new tin of pipe tobacco, and the pot of tea, he had everything to avoid Mrs. Beezle and her fierce housekeeping for several hours. The sound of cricket practice at the boys reformatory was faintly audible from a long way off.
Today's plans: Head over to C'town with pipe and pouch sometime in the afternoon. Avoid tourists while smoking, following milk tea at a bakery where they never go. Quietly bellyache to myself about the maltreatment old trouts with pipes receive from the modern age, with its limitations on indoor enjoyment of tobacco with a cup and book.
As you might expect, I am sitting with a pipe and hot beverage right now. Because this place needs to air out before the other person who lives here returns home (her bedroom door is closed), this comfy situation cannot continue much past noon.
The most significant change over the past few decades is that smoking my pipe in the afternoon is no longer accompanied by tea, a book, and a suitable place to sit down. Over the years I've become less attuned to climactic conditions, whereas in my teenage years the weather did not phase me. Nowadays, an indoor environment and creature comforts appeal slightly more. And I resent not having that choice.
The painting above is the Malpie Fen area south of town, vicinity of the Saint Benedict Abbey (Achelse Kluis), near the Belgian border. Teeming with wildlife. Including, unregretted, mosquitoes, gnats, and other bugs. The Dommel river runs through it.
I am not a bird, so I do not miss the bugs.
It rained there more often than here.
Thanks to the internet, despite living in San Francisco, I am not that far away.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
With a dense book about geology.
Contrast this with an ideal afternoon in an imaginary universe: Malcolm silently closed the library doors behind him, opened the French doors to the terrace, and slid the volumes of the encyclopedia forward to reach behind for the sherry. Along with the dizzy romance novel, the new tin of pipe tobacco, and the pot of tea, he had everything to avoid Mrs. Beezle and her fierce housekeeping for several hours. The sound of cricket practice at the boys reformatory was faintly audible from a long way off.
Today's plans: Head over to C'town with pipe and pouch sometime in the afternoon. Avoid tourists while smoking, following milk tea at a bakery where they never go. Quietly bellyache to myself about the maltreatment old trouts with pipes receive from the modern age, with its limitations on indoor enjoyment of tobacco with a cup and book.
As you might expect, I am sitting with a pipe and hot beverage right now. Because this place needs to air out before the other person who lives here returns home (her bedroom door is closed), this comfy situation cannot continue much past noon.
The most significant change over the past few decades is that smoking my pipe in the afternoon is no longer accompanied by tea, a book, and a suitable place to sit down. Over the years I've become less attuned to climactic conditions, whereas in my teenage years the weather did not phase me. Nowadays, an indoor environment and creature comforts appeal slightly more. And I resent not having that choice.
The painting above is the Malpie Fen area south of town, vicinity of the Saint Benedict Abbey (Achelse Kluis), near the Belgian border. Teeming with wildlife. Including, unregretted, mosquitoes, gnats, and other bugs. The Dommel river runs through it.
I am not a bird, so I do not miss the bugs.
It rained there more often than here.
Thanks to the internet, despite living in San Francisco, I am not that far away.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
ALSO, NOT ENOUGH COFFEE
There were loud rumbles from Polk Street yesterday so I walked the other direction. It must be horrid for the residents above the businesses there to have drunks on the street outside at night; broken glass, arguments, loud discussions about the achievements of sportsteams. How fortunate they are that no tourists visit.
The tourist season is in full swing. None of the blighters wear masks.
And Europeans, as is well known, swill booze at every meal.
Americans of course are great alcoholics.
The South, the East Coast.
Drunk by noon.
It's better early in the morning. Fog. People pooing their dogs. The occasional stumbling home-comers, somnolent street people, and early risers. No one rioting over the stunning defeat of the Gumbies or the election victory of some notorious Christian redneck.
One or two silent people with donuts and coffee.
I've had my my first cup. I'm awake enough to step over canine faeces as well as the last belongings of people with a string of bad choices and worse luck. Several things stand out remarkably when reflecting on the last walk with a pipe at night and the first walk of the new day. Firstly, the city is more beautiful early in the morning. Secondly, far less skeeviness is noticable. And lastly, my legs ache either way. I really should get the ball rolling on the peripheral angioplasty of the lower extremities. These dogs hurt.
Also, I don't like my fellow human beings very much.
That's probably a coffee deficiency.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
The tourist season is in full swing. None of the blighters wear masks.
And Europeans, as is well known, swill booze at every meal.
Americans of course are great alcoholics.
The South, the East Coast.
Drunk by noon.
It's better early in the morning. Fog. People pooing their dogs. The occasional stumbling home-comers, somnolent street people, and early risers. No one rioting over the stunning defeat of the Gumbies or the election victory of some notorious Christian redneck.
One or two silent people with donuts and coffee.
I've had my my first cup. I'm awake enough to step over canine faeces as well as the last belongings of people with a string of bad choices and worse luck. Several things stand out remarkably when reflecting on the last walk with a pipe at night and the first walk of the new day. Firstly, the city is more beautiful early in the morning. Secondly, far less skeeviness is noticable. And lastly, my legs ache either way. I really should get the ball rolling on the peripheral angioplasty of the lower extremities. These dogs hurt.
Also, I don't like my fellow human beings very much.
That's probably a coffee deficiency.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, May 18, 2022
THE AVOIDANCE OF ANTS, SNAKES, AND BUGS
As if we didn't have enough to worry about, with earthquakes, forest fires, covid, East Coast Pizza, and fundamentalist Christian missionairies intent on dragging us away from our sinful hedonism, there's now one more thing: ferocious jumping worms. Amynthas agrestis.
New harbinger of the apocalypse. I do not know what to make of this.
So I read Wikipedia. Fat lot of help that was.
Elsewhere I found a list of translated names for the critter. 跳蟲 ('tiu chung'; "jump creepy-crawly"),亞洲跳蟲 ('ngaa jau tiu chung'; "Asia jump creepy-crawly"), 瘋狂蠕蟲 ('fung kwong yiu chung'; "insane worm"), 阿拉巴馬跳線蟲 ('aa laa baa maa tiu sin chung'; "Alabama nematode"), 蛇蟲 ('se chung'; "snake creepy-crawly").
Thanks internet, I feel a whole lot better.
The most common terms are 跳蟲 and 瘋狂蠕蟲。
蛇蟲 is a misleading term, as it can also mean (ants), snakes , and insects.
As in 善棺槨,所以避螻蟻蛇蟲也。
From Master Lü's Spring And Autumn Annals (呂氏春秋), regarding 孟冬紀,節喪: 古之人有藏於廣野深山而安者矣,非珠玉國寶之謂也,葬不可不藏也。葬淺則狐狸抇之,深則及於水泉。故凡葬必於高陵之上,以避狐狸之患、水泉之溼。此則善矣,而忘姦邪盜賊寇亂之難,豈不惑哉?譬之若瞽師之避柱也,避柱而疾觸杙也。狐狸水泉姦邪盜賊寇亂之患,此杙之大者也。慈親孝子避之者,得葬之情矣。善棺槨,所以避螻蟻蛇蟲也。
Translation
Burials: In ancient times, there were people who secreted them in the vast fields and deep mountains and (they) were safe. They were not called national treasures of pearls and jade, and they must be hidden for burial. If it is buried shallow, it will be touched by a fox; if it is buried deep enough, it will reach a spring. Therefore, all burials must be on the high tombs to avoid the foxes and the dampness of the water springs. This is good, but is it not confusing to forget the problems of betrayal, thieves, bandits and rebellion? For example, it is like a blind teacher avoiding the pillar, avoiding the pillar and quickly touching the scorpion. Foxes (often powerful shape-shifting magical creatures), water sources, and troubles with thieves and robbers are enormous in this period, to be guarded against by loving parents and filial sons, in burials. Good caskets (棺槨), so as to avoid ants, snakes and insects.
This is not only quite fascinating, but also boring as all git out.
And to my knowledge 狐狸精 are not an issue here.
Neither auspicious, nor malevolent.
狐狸精
['wu lei jing']
If nine tailed foxes become an item of news media furor, OTHER than feral cosplayers of characters in Rumiko Takahashi manga, then we can start worrying. By then 猫鬼 ('maau kwai'; cat daemons, nekomata) will probably also be rather common.
I for one will welcome our mythological furry overlords.
Kent Brockman: Professor, without knowing precisely what the danger is, would you say it's time for our viewers to crack each others heads open and feast on the goo inside?
Professor: Yes I would, Kent.
And there you have it.
News in a nutshell.
Then shalt thou count to three, no more, no less. Three shall be the number thou shalt count, and the number of thy counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, neither countest thou two, excepting that thou then proceedeth to three.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
New harbinger of the apocalypse. I do not know what to make of this.
So I read Wikipedia. Fat lot of help that was.
Elsewhere I found a list of translated names for the critter. 跳蟲 ('tiu chung'; "jump creepy-crawly"),亞洲跳蟲 ('ngaa jau tiu chung'; "Asia jump creepy-crawly"), 瘋狂蠕蟲 ('fung kwong yiu chung'; "insane worm"), 阿拉巴馬跳線蟲 ('aa laa baa maa tiu sin chung'; "Alabama nematode"), 蛇蟲 ('se chung'; "snake creepy-crawly").
Thanks internet, I feel a whole lot better.
The most common terms are 跳蟲 and 瘋狂蠕蟲。
蛇蟲 is a misleading term, as it can also mean (ants), snakes , and insects.
As in 善棺槨,所以避螻蟻蛇蟲也。
From Master Lü's Spring And Autumn Annals (呂氏春秋), regarding 孟冬紀,節喪: 古之人有藏於廣野深山而安者矣,非珠玉國寶之謂也,葬不可不藏也。葬淺則狐狸抇之,深則及於水泉。故凡葬必於高陵之上,以避狐狸之患、水泉之溼。此則善矣,而忘姦邪盜賊寇亂之難,豈不惑哉?譬之若瞽師之避柱也,避柱而疾觸杙也。狐狸水泉姦邪盜賊寇亂之患,此杙之大者也。慈親孝子避之者,得葬之情矣。善棺槨,所以避螻蟻蛇蟲也。
Translation
Burials: In ancient times, there were people who secreted them in the vast fields and deep mountains and (they) were safe. They were not called national treasures of pearls and jade, and they must be hidden for burial. If it is buried shallow, it will be touched by a fox; if it is buried deep enough, it will reach a spring. Therefore, all burials must be on the high tombs to avoid the foxes and the dampness of the water springs. This is good, but is it not confusing to forget the problems of betrayal, thieves, bandits and rebellion? For example, it is like a blind teacher avoiding the pillar, avoiding the pillar and quickly touching the scorpion. Foxes (often powerful shape-shifting magical creatures), water sources, and troubles with thieves and robbers are enormous in this period, to be guarded against by loving parents and filial sons, in burials. Good caskets (棺槨), so as to avoid ants, snakes and insects.
This is not only quite fascinating, but also boring as all git out.
And to my knowledge 狐狸精 are not an issue here.
Neither auspicious, nor malevolent.
狐狸精
['wu lei jing']
If nine tailed foxes become an item of news media furor, OTHER than feral cosplayers of characters in Rumiko Takahashi manga, then we can start worrying. By then 猫鬼 ('maau kwai'; cat daemons, nekomata) will probably also be rather common.
I for one will welcome our mythological furry overlords.
Kent Brockman: Professor, without knowing precisely what the danger is, would you say it's time for our viewers to crack each others heads open and feast on the goo inside?
Professor: Yes I would, Kent.
And there you have it.
News in a nutshell.
Then shalt thou count to three, no more, no less. Three shall be the number thou shalt count, and the number of thy counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, neither countest thou two, excepting that thou then proceedeth to three.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
IT LOOKS LIKE AN ELEPHANT!
The diplomatic man knows precisely when to not bust out laughing like a maniac. Such as when one sees a tattoo in Chinese on a person who does not speak, read, or write Chinese, that says something peculiar. Which is not uncommon. "Death before dishonour" mangled by self translation into something that suggests 'kill first, abuse body later', or, for instance, "I like soup". Where it helps knowing that "soup" (湯) also means 'boiling water', 'hot water'. As in Japanese 銭湯 (錢湯) "sento": public bath house. Possibly she meant that she's clean.
It's best, when having a tattoo made in a foreign language, if the needle artist has mediocre skill and a sense of humour. Plus the ethics of the author of the Hungarian Phrase Book featured in a Monty Python skit.
I also recommend Hebrew and Dyak tribal symbols for tattoos.
Because every one needs to know you're a surfing rock.
It's meaningful and expresses your auras.
[For the record, I do not have tattoos at all.]
For a long time I have enjoyed Chinese calligraphy, even though there is much that I cannot quite read. My vocabulary is not fully literate level, and I frequently need dictionaries. Much of Chinese calligraphy relies on abbrevation, stroke-flow, and the viewers' comprehension of context. The modern mainland script has enshrined abbreviated forms as the standard for writing, in the "simplified script", turning, for instance, many left-hand elements into shorthand scribbles, and reducing the majority of complex characters to more simple-minded graphics, sometimes with no discernible relation to their original forms.
One of the script styles I particularly enjoy is the entire category that predates brushes as writing equipment. More "symbolic", more vibrant, very suited to visual play.
Oracle bone script, bronze and stone inscriptions, seal scripts. The example above is a variant on Zhou dynasty bronze engraving script, such as might be found on a tripod or ceremonial vessel commemorating a clan achievement or honour.
A tiger as the beast with claws and stripes. 虎
No, not a tyranosaurus rex in a bikini top, which would also be quite frightening, but the ancient Chinese did not conceive of that! I feel confident in stating this as a fact.
Flowery, elegant (華) has turned into 华, which changes it from fourteen strokes down to six. The great advantage for many people is that such simplified forms are less likely to become inkblobs. Possibly they are also easier to memorize, but I wouldn't know because I largely don't use them and haven't learned more than a few. 華/华 in it's old form is rather striking. My copies of the collection Three Hundred Poems of the Tang dynasty and the classics, are in the conventional script characters. And many of the local Chinese publications, or books I've purchased, use strictly that style. But visually, seal script is magic. A word chosen at random, because I liked how it looked, 棆 rendered in that fashion is almost poetry.
A tree next to a bundle of reeds held in union: camphor. This writing style is seldom used nowadays except in art, and, fittingly, this word is no longer the common term for 'camphor' anyway. The standard usage is 樟 ('jeung'). Stick ink used for calligraphy (墨) frequently has a faint whiff of its frangrance. Or sandalwood, or evergreen. Learning seal script and practicing writing it is both enjoyable, and a fascinating exercise. Sinuous blobs, taut curves, rigid bars and pillars, escaping snakes. Plus signifiers (the graphic element that indicates meaning category) in juxtaposition with phonetics.
[Note: brushes, if not in regular use, should be bundled together within a reed mat made for the purpose (筆卷).]
Of course, seal script still is used for seals. Official name signatures, departmental sign-offs, marks of ownership or authorship, items in a collection or library, literary fancies, nicknames, noms de guerre ou de convenance, etcetera. And often callipgraphers and scholars will carve them for their friends or themselves.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
It's best, when having a tattoo made in a foreign language, if the needle artist has mediocre skill and a sense of humour. Plus the ethics of the author of the Hungarian Phrase Book featured in a Monty Python skit.
I also recommend Hebrew and Dyak tribal symbols for tattoos.
Because every one needs to know you're a surfing rock.
It's meaningful and expresses your auras.
[For the record, I do not have tattoos at all.]
For a long time I have enjoyed Chinese calligraphy, even though there is much that I cannot quite read. My vocabulary is not fully literate level, and I frequently need dictionaries. Much of Chinese calligraphy relies on abbrevation, stroke-flow, and the viewers' comprehension of context. The modern mainland script has enshrined abbreviated forms as the standard for writing, in the "simplified script", turning, for instance, many left-hand elements into shorthand scribbles, and reducing the majority of complex characters to more simple-minded graphics, sometimes with no discernible relation to their original forms.
One of the script styles I particularly enjoy is the entire category that predates brushes as writing equipment. More "symbolic", more vibrant, very suited to visual play.
Oracle bone script, bronze and stone inscriptions, seal scripts. The example above is a variant on Zhou dynasty bronze engraving script, such as might be found on a tripod or ceremonial vessel commemorating a clan achievement or honour.
A tiger as the beast with claws and stripes. 虎
No, not a tyranosaurus rex in a bikini top, which would also be quite frightening, but the ancient Chinese did not conceive of that! I feel confident in stating this as a fact.
Flowery, elegant (華) has turned into 华, which changes it from fourteen strokes down to six. The great advantage for many people is that such simplified forms are less likely to become inkblobs. Possibly they are also easier to memorize, but I wouldn't know because I largely don't use them and haven't learned more than a few. 華/华 in it's old form is rather striking. My copies of the collection Three Hundred Poems of the Tang dynasty and the classics, are in the conventional script characters. And many of the local Chinese publications, or books I've purchased, use strictly that style. But visually, seal script is magic. A word chosen at random, because I liked how it looked, 棆 rendered in that fashion is almost poetry.
A tree next to a bundle of reeds held in union: camphor. This writing style is seldom used nowadays except in art, and, fittingly, this word is no longer the common term for 'camphor' anyway. The standard usage is 樟 ('jeung'). Stick ink used for calligraphy (墨) frequently has a faint whiff of its frangrance. Or sandalwood, or evergreen. Learning seal script and practicing writing it is both enjoyable, and a fascinating exercise. Sinuous blobs, taut curves, rigid bars and pillars, escaping snakes. Plus signifiers (the graphic element that indicates meaning category) in juxtaposition with phonetics.
[Note: brushes, if not in regular use, should be bundled together within a reed mat made for the purpose (筆卷).]
Of course, seal script still is used for seals. Official name signatures, departmental sign-offs, marks of ownership or authorship, items in a collection or library, literary fancies, nicknames, noms de guerre ou de convenance, etcetera. And often callipgraphers and scholars will carve them for their friends or themselves.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
ADMINISTRATIVE ERRORS ARE BOUND TO OCCUR IN ENORMOUS QUANTITIES
Sometimes one feels like an Icelandic honey salesman trying to get cynical Londoners to try the latest sweet offering. As with everything Icelandic, it smells like fish. Meaning that the little pork cook-up I made yesterday evening for supper was delicious. Frazzled some anchovy, garlic, chilipaste, and ginger in the bottom of a stew pot, added the pork chunks and tossed them to gild in this, then squeezed a lemon on top, added a jigger of fish sauce and some star anise, plus broth. Green bellpepper cut into slivers. A handfull of spring onion in two inch segments, and a teaspoon of sugar. Simmered on very low for over an hour.
The Icelandic honey salesman within was happy.
The apartment has a distinct odour now.
Best leave the windows open.
Sometimes I think my apartment mate doesn't appreciate it when I cook "Icelandic". This time, not a word. Maybe she has a minor cold?
Still, good to not tempt the fates by lighting my pipe inside before she leaves.
Recently I realized that the problem with lunch in the late afternoon with a cup of milk tea, followed by a smoke in a quiet alleyway, is that I would rather have that cup of tea while smoking, and sitting down inside. As I'm sure is common among old crotchetty codgers in San Francisco, that's why you never see any other men with pipes here. They are all indoors. And they live alone. Because the modern family is not conducive to that life style. The reek of pipe tobacco interferes with playing video games while watching reality shows. Women on 'Real Housewives' can smell old Angus smoking in the upstairs bedroom while his dear wife Blanche is watching downstairs from all the way across the country. In the middle of some fabulous cat fight, one of them will turn to the camera and say "tell that old white guy you'll throw him out if he continues doing that; it's nasty!"
And Angus, being an ornery sort (he uses his war wound rhetorically on social occasions), soon finds himself out on the compost heap in the freezing cold with possums, raccoons, and needle-using drug fiends passed out and dying of an overdose. Because he didn't believe her or the kids when they threatened him. And the company of heroin addicts and rabid wild creatures is what such criminals deserve. Both Oprah and Ellen DeGeneres agree.
Gwyneth Paltrow sells a candle to get his aura out of the drapes.
In addition to special yoni crystals.
Cigar smokers have it worse. Deservedly. They all smell Like Uncle Sid. Blanche's gall pals all ganged up and beat those men to death with their gameboys and yoni crystals before divorcing them, throwing their collections of classic old vinyl rock and roll discs out with the bathwater, and calling a shaman to conduct purifying rituals. Many of them now live in rat-infested Tenderloin residential hotels, where even in the lobby where you used to find ashtrays and recliners you now cannot smoke anymore, signs have been posted.
They sit on the curb in front muttering "Havana, Havana" disconsolately.
Many of them pick up dog poo for a living.
Or work as lawyers.
San Francisco is a gloomy place.
A pipe I smoked yesterday reminded me of a friend who passed away years ago. He did not like the smell of MacBaren's Virginia Flake in the small rectangular yellow tin -- it reminded of him of his grandma's sock drawer or something. "An elegant flavor with a full and pleasant mild taste has been added." I was banished to a secluded spot around the corner, and seeing as that pipe had a deep bowl, I was there for over an hour.
Without, I might add, even a cup of milk tea.
It gets mighty cold there.
I think he was fine with sage, yoni crystals, and shamanic hoohah.
Those being the benefits of Californian married life.
My apartment mate is nothing like that. She'd probably chase the shaman out into the street with her sword, and swear up a storm if anyone lit sage and danced widdershins anwhere near her. She just dislikes tobacco smoke (allergies), and I can respect that.
When she's at work I might indulge inside with the windows open.
In the afternoon the place airs out.
And I freeze.
[She's not at work today, having called in sick. So no pipe inside at all.]
One of the benefits of decisively flavoured food, such as the pork stew, is that preparing such things tends to keep other people out of the kitchen and cover the smell of surreptitious puffing there very well. Fishy fishy fishy.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
The Icelandic honey salesman within was happy.
The apartment has a distinct odour now.
Best leave the windows open.
Sometimes I think my apartment mate doesn't appreciate it when I cook "Icelandic". This time, not a word. Maybe she has a minor cold?
Still, good to not tempt the fates by lighting my pipe inside before she leaves.
Recently I realized that the problem with lunch in the late afternoon with a cup of milk tea, followed by a smoke in a quiet alleyway, is that I would rather have that cup of tea while smoking, and sitting down inside. As I'm sure is common among old crotchetty codgers in San Francisco, that's why you never see any other men with pipes here. They are all indoors. And they live alone. Because the modern family is not conducive to that life style. The reek of pipe tobacco interferes with playing video games while watching reality shows. Women on 'Real Housewives' can smell old Angus smoking in the upstairs bedroom while his dear wife Blanche is watching downstairs from all the way across the country. In the middle of some fabulous cat fight, one of them will turn to the camera and say "tell that old white guy you'll throw him out if he continues doing that; it's nasty!"
And Angus, being an ornery sort (he uses his war wound rhetorically on social occasions), soon finds himself out on the compost heap in the freezing cold with possums, raccoons, and needle-using drug fiends passed out and dying of an overdose. Because he didn't believe her or the kids when they threatened him. And the company of heroin addicts and rabid wild creatures is what such criminals deserve. Both Oprah and Ellen DeGeneres agree.
Gwyneth Paltrow sells a candle to get his aura out of the drapes.
In addition to special yoni crystals.
Cigar smokers have it worse. Deservedly. They all smell Like Uncle Sid. Blanche's gall pals all ganged up and beat those men to death with their gameboys and yoni crystals before divorcing them, throwing their collections of classic old vinyl rock and roll discs out with the bathwater, and calling a shaman to conduct purifying rituals. Many of them now live in rat-infested Tenderloin residential hotels, where even in the lobby where you used to find ashtrays and recliners you now cannot smoke anymore, signs have been posted.
They sit on the curb in front muttering "Havana, Havana" disconsolately.
Many of them pick up dog poo for a living.
Or work as lawyers.
San Francisco is a gloomy place.
A pipe I smoked yesterday reminded me of a friend who passed away years ago. He did not like the smell of MacBaren's Virginia Flake in the small rectangular yellow tin -- it reminded of him of his grandma's sock drawer or something. "An elegant flavor with a full and pleasant mild taste has been added." I was banished to a secluded spot around the corner, and seeing as that pipe had a deep bowl, I was there for over an hour.
Without, I might add, even a cup of milk tea.
It gets mighty cold there.
I think he was fine with sage, yoni crystals, and shamanic hoohah.
Those being the benefits of Californian married life.
My apartment mate is nothing like that. She'd probably chase the shaman out into the street with her sword, and swear up a storm if anyone lit sage and danced widdershins anwhere near her. She just dislikes tobacco smoke (allergies), and I can respect that.
When she's at work I might indulge inside with the windows open.
In the afternoon the place airs out.
And I freeze.
[She's not at work today, having called in sick. So no pipe inside at all.]
One of the benefits of decisively flavoured food, such as the pork stew, is that preparing such things tends to keep other people out of the kitchen and cover the smell of surreptitious puffing there very well. Fishy fishy fishy.
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Tuesday, May 17, 2022
SQUIDLETS!
As a general rule of thumb, always buy dried squid for the person with whom you live. It will pleasantly suprise them. That's something I just made up, but like many of the things that erupt from my head it makes sense, because I am a logical man.
Also, be careful about speaking Mandarin on the bus to anyone who looks like that might not be their native language. They are probably Mormons. That's the voice of sober experience.
But she was very nice.
I'm sorry, until moments ago I had no idea how to say 'severe Dutch Calvinist not likely to be swayed by un-Dutch heresies'. Probably a good thing too, as otherwise I might have been too blunt to an innocent young lady here from the East-Coast to talk about Jesus. 嚴肅, 嚴肅的 ('yim suk dik') means severe, serious, even stern. Calvinism is 加爾文主義 ('gaa yi man jyu yi'), and 異端 ('yi duen') is heresy. 非荷蘭的 means un-Dutch.
嚴肅的加爾文主義者不太可能被非荷蘭異端所動搖!
Mandarin: Yánsù de jiā'ěr wén zhǔyì zhě bù tài kěnéng bèi fēi hélán yìduān suǒ dòngyáo.
I had heard her speaking Mandarin to someone else, hence my curiosity and subsequent conversational foray. I'm really not a severe Calvinist (five generations ago several relatives were so inclined), but I can fake it quite well.
The reason why I did not qualify the type of Calvinism in Mandarin above is twofold: A) it could only lead to confusion, as the term for Calvinism is already gibberish ("augment final particle cultural philosophy"), and B) non-Dutch Calvinists are generally speaking simply wussy and narrow-minded (Scots). Wrong in any case.
But I should have guessed something fishy. Because the bus out of Chinatown usually does not have Mandarin-speaking westerners on it, and there is in fact a Mormon hive or nest in Chinatown where a cheap late night noodle place used to be. With freshly scrubbed young white persons occasionally clustered in front.
Years ago the Chinese Indonesian woman downstairs tried talking to me about Seventh Day whatsits, but since I started pointing out inconsistencies and textual errata in scripture, she has not done that again. There's enough goofy stuff in the Mormon belief system that the same course of action would be a doozy. The faux severe Calvinist Dutch uncle had lunch in C'town, followed by a pipeful. Too many white people on Stockton and Grant. Fewer in the alleys and on Waverly Place.
Faux severe Calvinist Dutch Uncles disapprove of tourists who do not wear masks and thus are likely to spread Covid to the very small and the very elderly.
This FSCDU fervently wishes those folks would stay in Bunfudge instead of coming here.
Surely there are colourful foods and interesting things back in Bunfudge?
It must be lovely in Indiana or Kansas this time of year!
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But she was very nice.
I'm sorry, until moments ago I had no idea how to say 'severe Dutch Calvinist not likely to be swayed by un-Dutch heresies'. Probably a good thing too, as otherwise I might have been too blunt to an innocent young lady here from the East-Coast to talk about Jesus. 嚴肅, 嚴肅的 ('yim suk dik') means severe, serious, even stern. Calvinism is 加爾文主義 ('gaa yi man jyu yi'), and 異端 ('yi duen') is heresy. 非荷蘭的 means un-Dutch.
嚴肅的加爾文主義者不太可能被非荷蘭異端所動搖!
Mandarin: Yánsù de jiā'ěr wén zhǔyì zhě bù tài kěnéng bèi fēi hélán yìduān suǒ dòngyáo.
I had heard her speaking Mandarin to someone else, hence my curiosity and subsequent conversational foray. I'm really not a severe Calvinist (five generations ago several relatives were so inclined), but I can fake it quite well.
The reason why I did not qualify the type of Calvinism in Mandarin above is twofold: A) it could only lead to confusion, as the term for Calvinism is already gibberish ("augment final particle cultural philosophy"), and B) non-Dutch Calvinists are generally speaking simply wussy and narrow-minded (Scots). Wrong in any case.
But I should have guessed something fishy. Because the bus out of Chinatown usually does not have Mandarin-speaking westerners on it, and there is in fact a Mormon hive or nest in Chinatown where a cheap late night noodle place used to be. With freshly scrubbed young white persons occasionally clustered in front.
Years ago the Chinese Indonesian woman downstairs tried talking to me about Seventh Day whatsits, but since I started pointing out inconsistencies and textual errata in scripture, she has not done that again. There's enough goofy stuff in the Mormon belief system that the same course of action would be a doozy. The faux severe Calvinist Dutch uncle had lunch in C'town, followed by a pipeful. Too many white people on Stockton and Grant. Fewer in the alleys and on Waverly Place.
Faux severe Calvinist Dutch Uncles disapprove of tourists who do not wear masks and thus are likely to spread Covid to the very small and the very elderly.
This FSCDU fervently wishes those folks would stay in Bunfudge instead of coming here.
Surely there are colourful foods and interesting things back in Bunfudge?
It must be lovely in Indiana or Kansas this time of year!
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DID SOMEONE SAY 'CHUM BUCKET'?
After seeing the movie "Jaws" many years ago it struck me that the one crucial flaw in the tale is that they didn't make clear what the great beast's motivation could be. If he (assuming masculinity, sorry for that) was a human, sheer orneriness would weigh into the picture, like it does for his eventual snack (the captain). Plus a certain sadistic pleasure in tormenting the humans, who much of the audience thought deserved that treatment. Three irritating blighters on a boat acting rather stupid. But a shark is less complex emotionally.
So while that might have been instinctual, it cannot be factored in.
[One noteworthy element in the movie was the use of that musical passage from 'Le Sacre Du Printemps' ("the rites of spring"), which, considering that it's all about frenzied behaviour and death, seems poetic and remarkably appropriate.]
And sheer hunger couldn't be it either.
What moved him to pursuit?
Angst?
As you can tell, my sympathies are with the great white shark. And fish probably think the same about humans as we think about them: "Ugh, too many bones!" They probably prefer Kenian runners and Japanese people over Americans.
Far less body fat, and consequently healthier.
I'm wondering what to have for lunch later today. Naturally. There are no Kenian restaurants that I'm aware of in San Francisco, and I live bus-hoppably close to Chinatown, so it won't be Japanese either. Possibly seafood.
What got me thinking about Jaws was a fellow pipe-smoker across the country enjoying a big bowl of Molto Dolce, which is absolutely nasty, one of many worst tobaccos ever, who posted a picture on Facebook in a group of which I am a member.
I need to get the imaginary taste out of my mouth.
Allegedly caramel-honey-vanilla, but in reality spray fixative, coconut, and a hint of mint. Plus so much humectant that it never fully dries, and leaves your bottom a soggy mess with a compost pile reek. It is (was) a very popular blend for a while.
The pipe afterwards will be filled with McConnell's Folded Flake.
Which is almost Spartan in comparison. Quite nice.
Very similar to Marlin Flake. Since Hecky quit over a year ago, there is no reason for me to smoke flavoured mixtures any more (his pain and anguish whenever I did so was "charming"), and outside of work I never touched them. Good pipe tobacco should not smell like a Parisian brothel.
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So while that might have been instinctual, it cannot be factored in.
[One noteworthy element in the movie was the use of that musical passage from 'Le Sacre Du Printemps' ("the rites of spring"), which, considering that it's all about frenzied behaviour and death, seems poetic and remarkably appropriate.]
And sheer hunger couldn't be it either.
What moved him to pursuit?
Angst?
As you can tell, my sympathies are with the great white shark. And fish probably think the same about humans as we think about them: "Ugh, too many bones!" They probably prefer Kenian runners and Japanese people over Americans.
Far less body fat, and consequently healthier.
I'm wondering what to have for lunch later today. Naturally. There are no Kenian restaurants that I'm aware of in San Francisco, and I live bus-hoppably close to Chinatown, so it won't be Japanese either. Possibly seafood.
What got me thinking about Jaws was a fellow pipe-smoker across the country enjoying a big bowl of Molto Dolce, which is absolutely nasty, one of many worst tobaccos ever, who posted a picture on Facebook in a group of which I am a member.
I need to get the imaginary taste out of my mouth.
Allegedly caramel-honey-vanilla, but in reality spray fixative, coconut, and a hint of mint. Plus so much humectant that it never fully dries, and leaves your bottom a soggy mess with a compost pile reek. It is (was) a very popular blend for a while.
The pipe afterwards will be filled with McConnell's Folded Flake.
Which is almost Spartan in comparison. Quite nice.
Very similar to Marlin Flake. Since Hecky quit over a year ago, there is no reason for me to smoke flavoured mixtures any more (his pain and anguish whenever I did so was "charming"), and outside of work I never touched them. Good pipe tobacco should not smell like a Parisian brothel.
==========================================================================
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MID FIFTIES, PLUS TEA AND EGG TARTS
Having left the house later than usual, I decided to simply have tea and a snack after buying some dimsum items to take home. My apartment mate probably hasn't had dim sum since the last time she saw her siblings, and during this pandemic that hasn't been very often. Including her, they are all into middle age now. And none of them live in the old neighborhood. Which has changed significantly since they left.
But dim sum remains a Chinatown constant.
As does a tea time nibble for many people. A lot of whom know that the egg tarts at one place come out of the oven at around four thirty, nice and piping hot, and utterly delicious. The old ladies sitting behind me, who had agreed to meet there, were not quite aware of how good those things are, so I turned around and informed them of that crucial fact.
蛋撻啱啱出爐!
Good thing they were conversing in city Cantonese, as I had been able to listen in on their conversation. Later on they discussed mahjong; mainland rules versus Hong Kong rules. Versus Taiwan. I haven't played mahjong in years, but I can see that for some people it's a framework for socializing. And I think it keeps many of the elderly sane in these times.
Before I left they inquired as to my names.
As I did in return.
你貴姓?
Buying dim sum and having tea were far more enjoyable than battling the cold wind with a pipe afterwards. Though I enjoyed my smoke while thinking about social interactions.
I had suprised myself at how human I sometimes am.
AFTER THOUGHT
The two most important phrases in Cantonese may very well be 蛋撻啱啱出爐 ('daan taat ngaam-ngaam chut lou'; "the egg tarts have just come out of the oven") and 你貴姓 ('nei kwai sing'; "what is your honourable surname"). The first establishes proper priorities, the second affirms that the speaker is aware of propriety and correct interpersonal relations. When the space aliens finally land here, they will not express any wish to meet our leader, but instead inquire whether the egg tarts are fresh (蛋撻係唔係好新鮮 'daan taat hai m hai hou san sin') before self-depreciatively introducing themselves (我小姓 ... 'ngo siu sing ... ').
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But dim sum remains a Chinatown constant.
As does a tea time nibble for many people. A lot of whom know that the egg tarts at one place come out of the oven at around four thirty, nice and piping hot, and utterly delicious. The old ladies sitting behind me, who had agreed to meet there, were not quite aware of how good those things are, so I turned around and informed them of that crucial fact.
蛋撻啱啱出爐!
Good thing they were conversing in city Cantonese, as I had been able to listen in on their conversation. Later on they discussed mahjong; mainland rules versus Hong Kong rules. Versus Taiwan. I haven't played mahjong in years, but I can see that for some people it's a framework for socializing. And I think it keeps many of the elderly sane in these times.
Before I left they inquired as to my names.
As I did in return.
你貴姓?
Buying dim sum and having tea were far more enjoyable than battling the cold wind with a pipe afterwards. Though I enjoyed my smoke while thinking about social interactions.
I had suprised myself at how human I sometimes am.
AFTER THOUGHT
The two most important phrases in Cantonese may very well be 蛋撻啱啱出爐 ('daan taat ngaam-ngaam chut lou'; "the egg tarts have just come out of the oven") and 你貴姓 ('nei kwai sing'; "what is your honourable surname"). The first establishes proper priorities, the second affirms that the speaker is aware of propriety and correct interpersonal relations. When the space aliens finally land here, they will not express any wish to meet our leader, but instead inquire whether the egg tarts are fresh (蛋撻係唔係好新鮮 'daan taat hai m hai hou san sin') before self-depreciatively introducing themselves (我小姓 ... 'ngo siu sing ... ').
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Monday, May 16, 2022
STRICTLY BIRDS
A friend and her husband visited the vicinity of Golden Gate bridge this weekend. They've seen the bridge hundreds of times, because they live in the Bay Area. But sometimes it helps to see it with a different light and eye. She posted a photograph, in which distantly a blue heron is visible.
Another friend recently mentioned seeing a blue heron in Golden Gate Park.
What with living on the butt end of Nob Hill, a densly urban neighborhood, and no longer commuting via train to Menlo Park, I have not seen any blue herons recently.
Small white egrets, yes. And pelicans. Small hawks.
Plus lots of seagulls, ducks, and geese.
Crows, wood doves, blackbirds ...
Pigeons. Oh lord.
The Bay Area is teeming with feathers.
Our egg-laying fellow-citizens. This computer painting was inspired by the distant bird in the photograph. Mostly crayon and spray can tools, plus very minor touches of pencil, oil brush, and line.
Turkey vultures too. I've mentioned them once or twice.
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Another friend recently mentioned seeing a blue heron in Golden Gate Park.
What with living on the butt end of Nob Hill, a densly urban neighborhood, and no longer commuting via train to Menlo Park, I have not seen any blue herons recently.
Small white egrets, yes. And pelicans. Small hawks.
Plus lots of seagulls, ducks, and geese.
Crows, wood doves, blackbirds ...
Pigeons. Oh lord.
The Bay Area is teeming with feathers.
Our egg-laying fellow-citizens. This computer painting was inspired by the distant bird in the photograph. Mostly crayon and spray can tools, plus very minor touches of pencil, oil brush, and line.
Turkey vultures too. I've mentioned them once or twice.
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PLEASE USE YOUR IMAGINATION
This post should have an appropriate food picture for an illustration, but doesn't. Please use your imagination. Having a bite to eat makes one more human, and tolerant of others. Also far less likely to beat law office droogs who aren't wearing masks on the number 1 California bus to a bloody pulp with one's walking stick. Again, please use your imagination. There were nine of those dummies on the bus. Two of them got off at Clay and Jones. Without realizing their immense good fortune. While San Francisco's covid numbers are skyrocketing, they sat their pudgy white asses down after energetically sitting at their desks all day, without wearing facemasks, because they're special! Freezums! Any one of the masked people could have pummeled them good, so that even without masks they wouldn't be recognizable anymore, but they didn't. Please use your imagination.
[Went down to C'town around tea-time. Bought food, then had a pastry and a hot cup of milk tea. When I got on the bus later it was rush hour. Sadly, many of the other passengers were breathing. Someone should do something about that.]
You know, my stuffed turkey vulture often suggests that I whack random strangers over the head, so that I can harvest fatty inner thighs from their cadavers for his dinner.
It's an attractive idea. Extremely so.
Spongy Embarcadero high rise law office clerical dingoes. Nine of them. Eighteen fatty inner thighs. Freshly harvested. Not quite organic -- they're full of chemicals -- but if whacked and eaten, the world would be a better place.
Haven't done it yet.
This blogger is all about improving the world. It's a raison d'etre.
And a happy carrion-eater is a jolly good thing.
Please use your imagination.
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[Went down to C'town around tea-time. Bought food, then had a pastry and a hot cup of milk tea. When I got on the bus later it was rush hour. Sadly, many of the other passengers were breathing. Someone should do something about that.]
You know, my stuffed turkey vulture often suggests that I whack random strangers over the head, so that I can harvest fatty inner thighs from their cadavers for his dinner.
It's an attractive idea. Extremely so.
TURKEY VULTURE IMAGINING THINGS TO EAT
Spongy Embarcadero high rise law office clerical dingoes. Nine of them. Eighteen fatty inner thighs. Freshly harvested. Not quite organic -- they're full of chemicals -- but if whacked and eaten, the world would be a better place.
Haven't done it yet.
This blogger is all about improving the world. It's a raison d'etre.
And a happy carrion-eater is a jolly good thing.
Please use your imagination.
==========================================================================
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A HORRIBLE NIGHTMARE INVOLVING BURGERS
It should have been a nice dream. Somewhere similar to a square in Valkenswaard near the cigar factory, autumn, dried leaves and mist, and a burger joint on one of the narrow streets leading out. Except, of course, that the burger joint never existed there, and an artistic person with whom I remember quarreling several years ago ran the place.
And what I really wanted was sorse ilish.
It should be axiomatic: don't rely on a Brabander for sorse ilish.
It isn't, only because most of them have never heard of it.
Sorse ilish is quite unknown in that region.
It was thanks to two gentlemen who commented under a recent FB post that I could not get sorse ilish out of my head. Which was not on the menu. Because the quarrelsome one ommitted it.
She had probably deliberately done that.
Sorse ilish is in the same general category as macher jhol. Which, not surprisingly, was also immensely uncommon in Valkenswaard et environs. Not unlike San Francisco, where one will seldom find it either.
One could blame the quarrelsome one, but that would be off target.
She probably has nothing to do with that state of affairs.
Here it is, several hours later, and I am still thinking of sorse ilish.
The classic Bong preparation must include Kalonji seeds in addition to two kinds of mustard seed. And don't use too much turmeric! It isn't particularly hot. A person from Brabant would probably experiment with adding Tierenteyn prepared mustard as a creative shortcut. As well as, perhaps, a smidge of Grey Poupon. But these are heresies to the orthodox.
Serve it with some brinjal and steamed rice.
NOTE: Many fish preparations are better with turmeric in the sauce, but one should not make them bright yellow by its use. A little improves the flavour, a lot ruins it.
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And what I really wanted was sorse ilish.
It should be axiomatic: don't rely on a Brabander for sorse ilish.
It isn't, only because most of them have never heard of it.
Sorse ilish is quite unknown in that region.
It was thanks to two gentlemen who commented under a recent FB post that I could not get sorse ilish out of my head. Which was not on the menu. Because the quarrelsome one ommitted it.
She had probably deliberately done that.
Sorse ilish is in the same general category as macher jhol. Which, not surprisingly, was also immensely uncommon in Valkenswaard et environs. Not unlike San Francisco, where one will seldom find it either.
One could blame the quarrelsome one, but that would be off target.
She probably has nothing to do with that state of affairs.
Here it is, several hours later, and I am still thinking of sorse ilish.
The classic Bong preparation must include Kalonji seeds in addition to two kinds of mustard seed. And don't use too much turmeric! It isn't particularly hot. A person from Brabant would probably experiment with adding Tierenteyn prepared mustard as a creative shortcut. As well as, perhaps, a smidge of Grey Poupon. But these are heresies to the orthodox.
Serve it with some brinjal and steamed rice.
NOTE: Many fish preparations are better with turmeric in the sauce, but one should not make them bright yellow by its use. A little improves the flavour, a lot ruins it.
==========================================================================
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LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
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Sunday, May 15, 2022
THEY ARE IRREPLACEABLE
Yesterday someone chided me for my lack of faith in people. Which is well-deserved; I have very little trust in their common sense. There were over twenty people on the bus back from Marin this evening blithely maskless. Going to work this morning, the same pudgy constant coughing no mask dude as yesterday. If I said what I really thought about the human race right now, Facebook would ban me for a month again.
Here in the United States many, probably most, of my fellow human beings are Caucasian. And a very large number of them are dumber than horse shit.
On the other hand, while I enjoy my work, and the splendid opportunities for interacting with humans that comes with it, I also thoroughly enjoy my time off. Also interaction with humans, but the food is a lot better. No more suburban kibble, but real stuff to eat. Chili pork (daging babi masak tjabai), or saoto with little fried patties and noodles, or Vietnamese noodle soup, or heading over to a chachanteng for something over rice with plenty sambal on the side, or something di-guleh, dengan rempah rempah, or masak hong siu, or fresh seafood soup, or, or, or ........ not suburban bland and boring. And apparently dipping raw vegetables in chili paste or putting hot sauce on salad is not "American".
When I worked down in Menlo Park years ago I had the same problem. Brought my own condiments to work and packed half a dozen raw chilies every day to benefit digestion.
Dinner tonight had both salsa AND sambal. It was lipsmackingly good. If I ever end up in a relationship again, this might present a problem. My kisses might leave her cheeks burning.
Somehow, a relationship seems marginally more likely than an extended sojourn in the rest of the country (parts of New Mexico are an exception), where the food is boring, people talk funny, and everyone is overweight. Mississippi is entirely out of the question, so are Texas and Florida.
Apparently the most exciting edibles in Missippi are fish pakoras without chutney or jhol, Texas has Frito Pie and corn dogs, and in Florida it's dead mouse on a stick at DeSantis World.
Ranch dressing is available everywhere.
America's favourite condiment.
IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER
I am not a bigot, I have nothing against Miss'pians, Texans, and Floridans! Some of my best friends, you know. And they've taught me so much! Their cultures are so fascinating. Without square dancing, fried catfish, banjos, and Cuban sammiches, where would this country be?
Precisely!
PS.: I'm always in a mood after my work week. I'll be sunny and people-loving again tomorrow. Full of the milk of human kindness, a veritable paragon. Trust me.
==========================================================================
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LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Here in the United States many, probably most, of my fellow human beings are Caucasian. And a very large number of them are dumber than horse shit.
On the other hand, while I enjoy my work, and the splendid opportunities for interacting with humans that comes with it, I also thoroughly enjoy my time off. Also interaction with humans, but the food is a lot better. No more suburban kibble, but real stuff to eat. Chili pork (daging babi masak tjabai), or saoto with little fried patties and noodles, or Vietnamese noodle soup, or heading over to a chachanteng for something over rice with plenty sambal on the side, or something di-guleh, dengan rempah rempah, or masak hong siu, or fresh seafood soup, or, or, or ........ not suburban bland and boring. And apparently dipping raw vegetables in chili paste or putting hot sauce on salad is not "American".
When I worked down in Menlo Park years ago I had the same problem. Brought my own condiments to work and packed half a dozen raw chilies every day to benefit digestion.
Dinner tonight had both salsa AND sambal. It was lipsmackingly good. If I ever end up in a relationship again, this might present a problem. My kisses might leave her cheeks burning.
Somehow, a relationship seems marginally more likely than an extended sojourn in the rest of the country (parts of New Mexico are an exception), where the food is boring, people talk funny, and everyone is overweight. Mississippi is entirely out of the question, so are Texas and Florida.
Apparently the most exciting edibles in Missippi are fish pakoras without chutney or jhol, Texas has Frito Pie and corn dogs, and in Florida it's dead mouse on a stick at DeSantis World.
Ranch dressing is available everywhere.
America's favourite condiment.
IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER
I am not a bigot, I have nothing against Miss'pians, Texans, and Floridans! Some of my best friends, you know. And they've taught me so much! Their cultures are so fascinating. Without square dancing, fried catfish, banjos, and Cuban sammiches, where would this country be?
Precisely!
PS.: I'm always in a mood after my work week. I'll be sunny and people-loving again tomorrow. Full of the milk of human kindness, a veritable paragon. Trust me.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
BUFFALO
QUOTED:
Describing the aftermath of the attack, one police officer told Buffalo News: "It's like walking onto a horror movie, but everything is real. It is Armageddon-like".
Later on Saturday, New York Governor Kathy Hochul said the suspect was a "white supremacist who has engaged in an act of terrorism".
This was "a military style execution targeting people who simply wanted to buy groceries in a neighbourhood store," she said while visiting Buffalo.
"We are investigating this incident as both a hate crime and a case of racially-motivated violent extremism," Stephen Belongia, the agent in charge of the FBI's Buffalo office, told a news conference.
The suspect is believed to have driven for several hours to reach the predominantly black area of the city. Thirteen people were shot in total and the majority of the victims were black, Buffalo Police Commissioner Joseph Gramaglia said.
SOURCE: BBC -- Buffalo shooting: Ten dead in attack at supermarket in New York state
Please note that several people whom I have no choice but to associate with on work days have informed me that there is no racism, no sir, it's all just communist exaggeration.
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Describing the aftermath of the attack, one police officer told Buffalo News: "It's like walking onto a horror movie, but everything is real. It is Armageddon-like".
Later on Saturday, New York Governor Kathy Hochul said the suspect was a "white supremacist who has engaged in an act of terrorism".
This was "a military style execution targeting people who simply wanted to buy groceries in a neighbourhood store," she said while visiting Buffalo.
"We are investigating this incident as both a hate crime and a case of racially-motivated violent extremism," Stephen Belongia, the agent in charge of the FBI's Buffalo office, told a news conference.
The suspect is believed to have driven for several hours to reach the predominantly black area of the city. Thirteen people were shot in total and the majority of the victims were black, Buffalo Police Commissioner Joseph Gramaglia said.
SOURCE: BBC -- Buffalo shooting: Ten dead in attack at supermarket in New York state
Please note that several people whom I have no choice but to associate with on work days have informed me that there is no racism, no sir, it's all just communist exaggeration.
==========================================================================
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==========================================================================
Saturday, May 14, 2022
KEEP AHEAD OF NAKED MEN WITH BEER
The problem with where a person works is that it is seldom anywhere near where he or she would like to eat. Which, in my case, means that it is near what can best be described as an inconvenience store. I would have gladly spent more on something appetizing. Which would have necessitated a motor vehicle. Years ago someone recommended a restaurant in San Raphael ..... perhaps presuming that I could take a one or two hour lunch before leisurely waltzing back into the salt mine to take my position at the oars again.
Erm. No.
So you can understand why on my days off I tend to head into Chinatown for civilized food. And no, delivery is a ridiculous idea too. Long ago I gave up on the idea of eating well at work. That's not what work is about.
The suburbs are an unending array of mediocre life-choices and circumscribed options.
There are junk food establishments a little bit further away than the nearest haven for the starvingly inconvenienced. Where there is a limited selection of sandwiches and cans.
What I wanted yesterday and today was dumplings. Home made dumplings. Minced pork and chives with a little ginger and some water chestnut for crunch, dough skin simply bunch-squeezed around it no fuss about nice neat folds or pleats, boiled till floating, drizzled with a little soy sauce, hot oil, dash red vinegar, and Louisiana hot sauce, or sambal. Garnished with chopped scallion.
I have on several occasions brought food from home. The unhealthy curiosity of suburbanites coupled with obvious distaste for my strange foreign muck encourages me to not do so.
Some of those people are frightfully "white".
BUT ON A POSITIVE NOTE ...
One very good thing, however, is that I will be nowhere near Bay To Breakers race tomorrow. I will not be exposed to hundreds of naked flabby marketing department monkeys, sales dudes, and frat boys, pushing beer kegs up Hayes Street and toking on the group bong. Or gay sprites in zany outfits of any kind. This "precious" yearly mass event, a cherished San Francisco tradition dating back to allegedly to just after the earthquake, attracts around a hundred thousand participants and an equivalent number of giddy spectators whose lives, today, are otherwise empty and devoid of meaning. Or more. It makes traffic in the city a nightmare, ties down a huge percentage of the police force so that crime can run rampant away from the route, and leaves a trail of garbage and human waste stretching from the Embarcadero all the way to the Pacific Ocean.
African runners have participated since 1984, and won every year since 1991.
Possibly because they are sober people. As well as adults.
Nobody I willingly associate with has ever run.
To the best of my knowledge.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Erm. No.
So you can understand why on my days off I tend to head into Chinatown for civilized food. And no, delivery is a ridiculous idea too. Long ago I gave up on the idea of eating well at work. That's not what work is about.
The suburbs are an unending array of mediocre life-choices and circumscribed options.
There are junk food establishments a little bit further away than the nearest haven for the starvingly inconvenienced. Where there is a limited selection of sandwiches and cans.
What I wanted yesterday and today was dumplings. Home made dumplings. Minced pork and chives with a little ginger and some water chestnut for crunch, dough skin simply bunch-squeezed around it no fuss about nice neat folds or pleats, boiled till floating, drizzled with a little soy sauce, hot oil, dash red vinegar, and Louisiana hot sauce, or sambal. Garnished with chopped scallion.
I have on several occasions brought food from home. The unhealthy curiosity of suburbanites coupled with obvious distaste for my strange foreign muck encourages me to not do so.
Some of those people are frightfully "white".
BUT ON A POSITIVE NOTE ...
One very good thing, however, is that I will be nowhere near Bay To Breakers race tomorrow. I will not be exposed to hundreds of naked flabby marketing department monkeys, sales dudes, and frat boys, pushing beer kegs up Hayes Street and toking on the group bong. Or gay sprites in zany outfits of any kind. This "precious" yearly mass event, a cherished San Francisco tradition dating back to allegedly to just after the earthquake, attracts around a hundred thousand participants and an equivalent number of giddy spectators whose lives, today, are otherwise empty and devoid of meaning. Or more. It makes traffic in the city a nightmare, ties down a huge percentage of the police force so that crime can run rampant away from the route, and leaves a trail of garbage and human waste stretching from the Embarcadero all the way to the Pacific Ocean.
African runners have participated since 1984, and won every year since 1991.
Possibly because they are sober people. As well as adults.
Nobody I willingly associate with has ever run.
To the best of my knowledge.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Friday, May 13, 2022
SAN FRANCISCO LAW OFFICES
Yesterday was a first; not a single maskless person on the bus. Which would have been truly amazing if they had all been white, but including myself there were just three of us among over twenty Chinese Americans. The bus back from my tea-time jaunt was, however, filled with office workers, mostly bright young mid-twenties, probably employed by law offices and a few investement firms, and consequently over a dozen people were not wearing masks.
So nice that law office clerks have decided that little children are expendable. Leastways a small price to pay for their precious freezums. Especially small ethnic children. Because in this city, little white kiddies get taxied everywhere by their parents or the Central American nannies, and most of the little tykes on the busses are consequently non-white.
Law office staff equals very important people and their freezums.
Their employers have no doubt told them that they can't be held responsible for incidental exposure to covid, and not to worry; those are just brown little people.
In any case, there are so many of them!
1 CALIFORNIA STREET BUS LINE
Before the bus gets to Chinatown, it passes Embarcadero numbers two, three, and four. Where there are just sheer tonnes of law offices.
It crosses Battery, Sansome, and Montgomery; more law offices! Plus banks, and a few investment companies. It would be fairly pointless to list the names of all those downtown offices, because you can easily look them up yourself, and I don't want to get sued.
The important zip codes are 94111, 94104, and 94105.
All of the Embarcadero offices are the first.
Again, per the office workers, little children are quite superfluous.
Especially all those ethnic ones.
Law offices ...
I've worked in several of those law offices.
Believe me, there's a lot of trash there.
Many hail from very Wasp areas.
Others are wannabees.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
So nice that law office clerks have decided that little children are expendable. Leastways a small price to pay for their precious freezums. Especially small ethnic children. Because in this city, little white kiddies get taxied everywhere by their parents or the Central American nannies, and most of the little tykes on the busses are consequently non-white.
Law office staff equals very important people and their freezums.
Their employers have no doubt told them that they can't be held responsible for incidental exposure to covid, and not to worry; those are just brown little people.
In any case, there are so many of them!
1 CALIFORNIA STREET BUS LINE
Before the bus gets to Chinatown, it passes Embarcadero numbers two, three, and four. Where there are just sheer tonnes of law offices.
It crosses Battery, Sansome, and Montgomery; more law offices! Plus banks, and a few investment companies. It would be fairly pointless to list the names of all those downtown offices, because you can easily look them up yourself, and I don't want to get sued.
The important zip codes are 94111, 94104, and 94105.
All of the Embarcadero offices are the first.
Again, per the office workers, little children are quite superfluous.
Especially all those ethnic ones.
Law offices ...
I've worked in several of those law offices.
Believe me, there's a lot of trash there.
Many hail from very Wasp areas.
Others are wannabees.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Thursday, May 12, 2022
CONSULT A WOMAN
An article written by Shmuley Boteach back in 2014 asserts that "women are not looking just for love in a marriage; they are primarily looking for lust. A woman wants to be wanted, needs to be needed, desires to be desired."
Well shoot. When you want to know what women really want, consult a rabbi.
Rabbis will always know the innermost wishes of a woman.
What women really want:
A) Pockets.
B) To speak for themselves, dagnabit.
C) Cookies. And chocolate. And cookies with chocolate.
D) Equal pay for equal work, longer maternity leave, and someone to wash the dishes. Better and cleaner public restrooms all over the place.
E) All of the above.
Option D is edited from someone else's comment, but if you guessed E you're on the right track. I would ask the women I know, but I fear they might not shut up on the matter.
One woman I know (my apartment mate) would also insist on fresh seafood, most especially shrimp and lobster, plus oysters, crabs, mussels, and fresh geoduck or salmon sashimi, but she's Cantonese American and might only speak for her own kind.
Pockets, to speak for themselves, cookies, chocolate, equal pay, abundant powder rooms, plus shrimp, lobster, a veritable crustacean buffet, and sashimi.
Aother woman I know also wants cucumber flavoured potato chips, as well as the ones that have salted egg (黃瓜味薯片、鹹蛋黃味薯片 respectively), but she too is part of a subset, it's not universal. A third woman I know wants the Giants to win, but I suspect she has issues.
In any case, I feel certain in asserting that the women I know do not want all those things that Boteach claims they do, and definitely not from me. It would upset them. So he's full of crap.
"Women are not looking just for love; they are primarily looking for lust. A woman wants to be wanted, needs to be needed, desires to be desired."
What men want, at least sensible men, is a Virginia Perique tobacco that reminds them of the old Escudo, as well as a warm quiet place to enjoy that after a nice cup of tea and a snack. Cope's Escudo was made in England, and disappeared years ago. The current product by that name is made in Denmark, but not quite the same.
Heading into C'town soon for milk tea and a pastry. Will be having a pipeful afterwards.
You've probably figured out that I have pockets. They're very useful.
Briar. Pouch. Matches. Tamper. Cleaners.
No chocolate.
Some men also want a woman who has a cat. But that's just a guess.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Well shoot. When you want to know what women really want, consult a rabbi.
Rabbis will always know the innermost wishes of a woman.
What women really want:
A) Pockets.
B) To speak for themselves, dagnabit.
C) Cookies. And chocolate. And cookies with chocolate.
D) Equal pay for equal work, longer maternity leave, and someone to wash the dishes. Better and cleaner public restrooms all over the place.
E) All of the above.
Option D is edited from someone else's comment, but if you guessed E you're on the right track. I would ask the women I know, but I fear they might not shut up on the matter.
One woman I know (my apartment mate) would also insist on fresh seafood, most especially shrimp and lobster, plus oysters, crabs, mussels, and fresh geoduck or salmon sashimi, but she's Cantonese American and might only speak for her own kind.
Pockets, to speak for themselves, cookies, chocolate, equal pay, abundant powder rooms, plus shrimp, lobster, a veritable crustacean buffet, and sashimi.
Aother woman I know also wants cucumber flavoured potato chips, as well as the ones that have salted egg (黃瓜味薯片、鹹蛋黃味薯片 respectively), but she too is part of a subset, it's not universal. A third woman I know wants the Giants to win, but I suspect she has issues.
In any case, I feel certain in asserting that the women I know do not want all those things that Boteach claims they do, and definitely not from me. It would upset them. So he's full of crap.
"Women are not looking just for love; they are primarily looking for lust. A woman wants to be wanted, needs to be needed, desires to be desired."
What men want, at least sensible men, is a Virginia Perique tobacco that reminds them of the old Escudo, as well as a warm quiet place to enjoy that after a nice cup of tea and a snack. Cope's Escudo was made in England, and disappeared years ago. The current product by that name is made in Denmark, but not quite the same.
Heading into C'town soon for milk tea and a pastry. Will be having a pipeful afterwards.
You've probably figured out that I have pockets. They're very useful.
Briar. Pouch. Matches. Tamper. Cleaners.
No chocolate.
Some men also want a woman who has a cat. But that's just a guess.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
MA PO TOFU JUST LIKE GRAN'MA MADE
An essay from a few years ago reminded me of a lovely recipe. To be more precise about that, I looked at my blog stats today and discovered that something I wrote about pie, in which I casually gave a recipe for something else, has attracted the attention of probable spambots, because nobody could be interested in what I wrote that long ago.
I am an impossibly boring person, and my opinions are dated.
I am also a single male grouchy old codger, and live alone with a collection of voodoo dolls. There are rumours that I am sentient and bipedal, but I can assure you that these are malicious exaggerations.
麻婆豆腐
MA PO TOFU
One block firm tofu (14 oz).
1/4 lb ground meat.
2 TBS chili paste.
2 TBS Szechuan hot bean paste (辣豆瓣醬 'laat dau baan jeung'; douban sauce).
2 TBS regular oil.
1 TBS chili oil.
½ TBS Sichuan peppercorns (花椒 'faa jiu'), roasted and finely ground .
½ Tsp fermented black beans (豆豉 'dau si'), soaked and mashed.
2 scallions, cut to 2 inch lengths.
2 gloves garlic, chopped.
½ TBS soy sauce.
Quarter cup bone stock and a brisk jigger of sherry or rice wine.
Pinch of sugar, pinch of cornstarch - blended in a little hot water.
Cut tofu into chunks, blanch in gently boiling water, drain. Sauté the ground meat, garlic, and Sichuan bean paste in the two oils till the meat is no longer pink. Add the chili paste, fermented black beans, and soy sauce, stir around to mix everything, then add the tofu, bone stock, and sherry. Cook, gently stirring (to prevent the tofu breaking up) for a few minutes, then add the Szechuan pepper, scallions, and the pinches of sugar and cornstarch which have been blended in a little hot water. Stir a little longer and plate it.
Please note that while there are versions of Ma Po Tofu which are vegetarian, these are quite pointless. Someone from Canton or Hong Kong will add meat: ground fatty pork -- ask for 梅頭豬肉碎 ('mui tau chü yiuk seui') -- and it wouldn't be any great heresy to dump a crumbled fried rasher of bacon on top either. As a garnish along with the cilantro.
AFTER THOUGHT: Yesterday I purchased something of which I really should disapprove, namely a Taiwanese satay sauce (沙茶醬 'saa chaa jeung'; "shacha sauce"), composed of the usual suspects: garlic, shallots, dried lizard fish, sesame, coconut powder, chilies, dried shrimp, and soybean oil. This bears scant relation to real satay sauce, which as every Dutchman knows must always include peanuts, palm sugar, and chilies, in addition to whatever else. Never-the-less, it is a handy cooking aide. A spoonful added to the pan, followed by a hefty sploodge of hot sauce or sambal ulek, and stock, tomato puree, or jarred salsa, is an easy shortcut to a gloopy sauce for spaghetti or grilled bratwurst.
The second character (茶) is pronounced 'te' in the Min (閩) languages, but 'cha' in Mandarin and 'chaa' in Cantonese. Hence the semblance of a misnomer.
Shacha sauce could also be added to your mapo tofu. Why not? You aren't cooking for purists, and if you have white people at your table none of them will know the difference anyway. So go ahead.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
I am an impossibly boring person, and my opinions are dated.
I am also a single male grouchy old codger, and live alone with a collection of voodoo dolls. There are rumours that I am sentient and bipedal, but I can assure you that these are malicious exaggerations.
麻婆豆腐
MA PO TOFU
One block firm tofu (14 oz).
1/4 lb ground meat.
2 TBS chili paste.
2 TBS Szechuan hot bean paste (辣豆瓣醬 'laat dau baan jeung'; douban sauce).
2 TBS regular oil.
1 TBS chili oil.
½ TBS Sichuan peppercorns (花椒 'faa jiu'), roasted and finely ground .
½ Tsp fermented black beans (豆豉 'dau si'), soaked and mashed.
2 scallions, cut to 2 inch lengths.
2 gloves garlic, chopped.
½ TBS soy sauce.
Quarter cup bone stock and a brisk jigger of sherry or rice wine.
Pinch of sugar, pinch of cornstarch - blended in a little hot water.
Cut tofu into chunks, blanch in gently boiling water, drain. Sauté the ground meat, garlic, and Sichuan bean paste in the two oils till the meat is no longer pink. Add the chili paste, fermented black beans, and soy sauce, stir around to mix everything, then add the tofu, bone stock, and sherry. Cook, gently stirring (to prevent the tofu breaking up) for a few minutes, then add the Szechuan pepper, scallions, and the pinches of sugar and cornstarch which have been blended in a little hot water. Stir a little longer and plate it.
Please note that while there are versions of Ma Po Tofu which are vegetarian, these are quite pointless. Someone from Canton or Hong Kong will add meat: ground fatty pork -- ask for 梅頭豬肉碎 ('mui tau chü yiuk seui') -- and it wouldn't be any great heresy to dump a crumbled fried rasher of bacon on top either. As a garnish along with the cilantro.
AFTER THOUGHT: Yesterday I purchased something of which I really should disapprove, namely a Taiwanese satay sauce (沙茶醬 'saa chaa jeung'; "shacha sauce"), composed of the usual suspects: garlic, shallots, dried lizard fish, sesame, coconut powder, chilies, dried shrimp, and soybean oil. This bears scant relation to real satay sauce, which as every Dutchman knows must always include peanuts, palm sugar, and chilies, in addition to whatever else. Never-the-less, it is a handy cooking aide. A spoonful added to the pan, followed by a hefty sploodge of hot sauce or sambal ulek, and stock, tomato puree, or jarred salsa, is an easy shortcut to a gloopy sauce for spaghetti or grilled bratwurst.
The second character (茶) is pronounced 'te' in the Min (閩) languages, but 'cha' in Mandarin and 'chaa' in Cantonese. Hence the semblance of a misnomer.
Shacha sauce could also be added to your mapo tofu. Why not? You aren't cooking for purists, and if you have white people at your table none of them will know the difference anyway. So go ahead.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
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GRITS AND TOFU
Like most Americans, I have a list of people who should be peacefully retired from public service and thereafter kept away from their desks,...
