Thursday, February 26, 2009

Patel plague!

The infamous and depraved Grant patel posts another masterpiece of degenerate hyperbole!

This time, it appears that my knickers are not the butt of his berserkety, as can be seen here:

It's about Arab women and their undies. His twisted interests know no bounds, he wishes to "eye-ball" them.

It is probably the most Grantpatelish thing he has done to-date.

He writes "I am expert at while undressing you in my mental eye still leaving the last several or two skintight silken object on the hypothesized naked surfaces of your forms to protect your several maidenly modesties. I do this all the time. On the street, in the office, at the mall, while sipping my tea in various gandu coffee-shops. I am doing it now while talking to you."


Well, that's just gross. He's an amazingly nasty piece of work. I've read about his type, but never thought that there would be one so close by. At least, I never though about such people being close by. I'm feeling nauseated at this point. He probably has beer breath, and a hairy torso. That's just sick!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Just in case, I'm staying out of all coffee shops. If there are any more like him, no wonder we're in trouble. Do not marry a lawyer.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

An unbearable darkness of being

So just for the heck of it I was reading one of Steg's posts and trying to understand it. And because he talks Bible, that is not as easy as you would think. There's a lot of Hebrew in the English. Perhaps the easier part to understand is the use of metaphor.

However. He mentions darkness in different contexts. The darkness before there was light, the darkness of the mind that is fear ("fear and great Darkness fell upon our first patriarch" - Josef?), darkeness of pestilence and plagues ("swarms of locusts like voracious clouds blocked out the sky"), and finally the plague that descends on Egypt when the king doesn't let the children of Israel leave.

"God instructed משה to stretch his hand out towards the heavens, and Darkness would descend on Egypt."

And that got me thinking: do men and women see dark differently?

A few days ago there was a powerfailure on Larkin Street from before Clay to past Jackson. It was pitch black, and the only way to go forward was to head towards the distant light, ignoring the thick thick blackness on either side of one's face. I crossed the street to avoid going past the church, as the lord only knows what nastiness and badness beds down in the doorway and the parking lot - I've seen spent needles on the sidewalk in front, and there are empty liquor bottles. Anything could happen at that church, it's scary.

Then I turned back and instead ran down to Polk Street. I didn't feel comfortable at all. I heard male voices in the dark, but I couldn't see anybody. It was very frightening. But I don't think most men would've been afraid, they aren't like that. Probably would've marched straight ahead while hollering 'howdy'.

"The Egyptians groped blindly in the darkness while the Israelites could see clearly."

That already tells you who the men of the tale are.
The Israelites are acting bold, the Egyptians are unsure and insecure. The Egyptians are not the "men" in this narrative.

The Egyptians had good reason to be frightened: "Darkness. Smothering, physical darkness. Personal blindness. Hallucinations.". These are not comforting things.

Steg goes on to describe Pharaoh's fear of what the departure of the Hebrews will mean. Even though Pharaoh can't see his hand in front of his face, the land without the slaves, or the correct thing to do (and it seems clear that the darkness is a metaphor for mental limitations too), he is even more blind to what his country will be like when the Hebrews go - he just cannot even imagine what will happen. The Hebrews are a familiar quantity, and, I think, precisely because of the darkness, because of his 'blindness', he refuses to 'see' any other scenarios.
So the Hebrews have to stay - "while everything was dark for the Egyptians, בני ישראל had light".

That is a clever way of saying that light, enlightenment, and the ability to see forward coincided in this instance with the children of Israel. Self-serving, and probably an interpretational difference, and not really how the Egyptians themselves would put it (but they aren't telling the story - the Hebrews are). A delicious twist.

When it was dark on Larkin Street, it felt safer to retreat and go out of my way, instead of going forward. Better that which is known and recognized, than the uncertainty and unsafety that cannot be seen.
The straight path may be the most frightening, not because of what is before you, but precisely because of what you cannot see.

Sunday, February 22, 2009

The intemperate and perverse Patel

So Grant Patel is insanely jealous that I got something lacy, sputtering ragefully that he should be the one to lead me down the primrose path, that being something that he knows more about than anybody. Possibly because he's a lawyer. And despite the fact that he's older than Christ. Being at least in his forties. Possibly even more antique.
On his blog he blusters at length his ire and anger, his resentment and despair. That I got lace and not from him. Oh woe. He is distraught.

And perturbed. Not to say angry. Dirty old man.

Number one: I am not anywhere on the primrose path, nor am I heading there.

Number two: I'm four and half feet tall and barely sixteen, you freak!!!!!!!!!!!

And, as far as that is concerned, I shall leave you in the dark, mr. Patel, as to what kind of garment it was. Was it something with leg holes, or perhaps with cups? Clasps? Tight? Or loose and flowing? Straps? Panels? Cinches? Does it show off? Or obscure? Over? Or under? Does it support, expose, disguise?


You will never know. You will never see it. Your eyes shall not embrace this vision. Your emotional unbalance over MY lacy garment is out of bounds, off kilter, and has no place, you perverted whacko. Even if you hang around the school gate asking every likely young thing about their lacies, you will not find out. Ever. I can promise you that. Tempermental deviant.

It just is not within your realm of possibilities.

But you might get arrested. And that would serve you right.

You poor sweet insane baby.

I shan't bail you out.


Friday, February 20, 2009

The bent of the Dutch broadcasting corporation

The writer of At The Back of the Hill (a blog) has asked me to post some links about the Dutch news broadcaster NOS (Nederlandse Omroep Stichting), and he sent me a report that showed a pattern of omisions, distortions and manipulation from reporter Sander Van Hoorn and the NOS.

Israel's Gaza war in Dutch state-funded media

NOS-journaal manipuleerde nieuws Gaza oorlog (report in Dutch)

This isn't a surprise. Newspapers simplify complex issues, how much more so broadcasters - viewers have a more superficial attention span than readers.
And most European newsorganizations on the internet have a stick up their lower digestive tract about Israel. Perhaps Europeans resent Jews who defend themselves better than the European governments ever did. Plus the Palestinians seem to make many Europeans all warm inside.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Role model

Live life out loud. There is NOTHING mysterious about Orientals, nothing hidden.
Whatever that thing about 'inscrutable' was, it does not, and did not, apply.

Operatic is the word. Out loud. Top of the lungs. All fuses blown.

As this Cantonese Momma illustrates:

"Aiyaaaah!!!! Sei-ah!! Ngo yiu jau, ah, keui mei jauah, tiemkai!!!?????? Aiiiiii-yyyy-aaaaaaaaah!!! Kauwaaaaaaah!!! Tiemyeung kam shi? Owaah kam-yeung gah, Aiyyaaaaaaaaah!"

Three minutes of shrieking at the top of her lungs, rolling on the floor, and flailing. This woman has a queensized talent for tantrum. Betcha her companion was probably thinking the while "I told you to be ready by twelve, but where you ready? Were you? Nooooooooo!!!! I told you! Heck, you didn't even leave the house till nearly one o'clock, then we had to stop so you could drop sumping off! And that took you far too long too. I told you we were running late, I told you, bitch, you NEVER listen to a word I say!!!"

But wisely, he didn't say any of it. Not a peep out of him. He left the lectern to his wife. Who took it, ran with it, and beat it into fraggy shards. Then shook it viciously till there was nothing left but bloody sawdust. She rules! Center of attention, everyone stepping away from her in fear!

When I grow up, I wanna be just like her!!!!!!


Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Mister Patel's laddoos

Grant Patel, who is severely disturbed and likely insane, has called me a little laddoo. Even though he doesn't know me! He has never met me even! The nerve of that man!!!!!!!!!!

One time it was "ghee-starved laddoo", another time it was "ghee-drenched laddoo".
I had to look up what both of those terms mean, ghee and laddoo. Indians eat greasy sweets, that's for sure.
A laddoo is a lump of sweetened paste rounded into a ball while it is still warm and malleable. Ghee is butter simmered till solids sink to the bottom and the water-content is evaporated, then skimmed - it keeps for a long time.
Ghee is one of the components of a laddoo. If you are Grant Patel, you probably serve them with extra ghee, and get it all over your face. Then you squeal like a pig, I bet.


One cup atta flour (whole wheat flour made from hard wheat).
Half a cup powdered sugar.
Quarter cup roasted cashews, chopped.
Quarter teaspoon ground cardamom seed.
Quarter cup ghee.

Warm a pan on low heat. Sift the flour into the pan and roast until you notice the fragrance, then add the ghee, and cook a little longer till it has become light golden. Let it cool until it can be touched with the bare hands, add in the sugar, cashews, and cardamom. Make it into small balls before it cools.

If you are Grant Patel, there is no telling what you will do with the laddoo next.
I would far rather not know, but I'm sure that you will tell me. Just keep it clean, buster! No obscene suggestions! And try not to mention my panties!

Monday, February 16, 2009

Death noodles!

Sometimes you eat just for the rich creamy fatty goodness of it. Such as when you eat anything with butter. Lots of butter. Yummy!

Death noodles!

One pound spaghetti noodles.
One red bell pepper, chopped.
One pound of shrimp.
Two cloves garlic, chopped very fine.
1/2 cup whipping cream.
1/2 cup butter.
1 1/2 teaspoons paprika.
Finely minced fresh basil and cilantro.

Peel and vein shrimp. Put bell pepper into pan and stir-fry with a tablespoon of olive oil till you can smell it, add the shrimp and garlic and cook till pink. Remove the bell pepper and shrimp from pan and add the cream, butter, and paprika. Stir on low heat till butter has melted into the cream. Add salt and pepper as necessary.
Boil water in a large pot and cook noodles as per the directions on the package. Once the Spaghetti is cooked, strain and fold in the shrimps in cream sauce along with the fresh basil and cilantro. Serves four!

A half pound of butter is half a cup, or eight tablespoons, or one stick. Cream does not come in sticks. This is not complicated.
If you are a vegetarian, don't use shrimp. Use tofu for everything!

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Most delicate lace

Got something with lovely lace trim. Which I'm never going to wear on gym days. I don't think lace looks very good on me coz I'm my hips aren't big enough. But it feels VERY nice.
Thank you.
But I would've been very happy with chocolate. So there!

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Valentine's hoohah!

According to the mangas I've been reading, it is customary in Japan for girls to give boys chocolate on Valentine's day. Girls. Giving. Boys.
Lovingly handmade chocolates, too. That just isn't right.

In one book, the tomboy stays up all night carefully melting bakers chocolate, adding stuff to copper saucepans, shaping and molding dainty confections. So romannnnn... tic.

Heck will freeze over before I do that. Firstly, the Japanese got it all wrong. Boys are supposed to give girls chocolate! not the other way around! Secondly, you buy chocolate at Teuscher's on Sutter Street, you don't make it yourself. Thirdly, I do not know what I'd do if anybody was crazy enough to give me chocolate. Hah, probably only some dirty old man would.
I can buy my own chocolate, I will not eat old geezer candy.

Mangas are not a reliable guide to life.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Credit cards

I need a credit card. Seriously. There are so many options for buying exactly whatt I want (what I NEEEED) on the internet, and so few here in the city. I mean, have YOU ever tried to buy panties in your size locally???!!?

You'd think that with the large number of reasonably sized Asians, local stores would realize the potential and start catering to us. Instead of stocking up on big bucket-sized butt-bags for gigomphous white women. A selection in four extra small, five small, maybe tight sixes - but noooooooooo!!!!

If they were made out of black cloth, you'd think of a garbage bag. Expando size. Just stuff your old dead leaves in here. Heck, stuff the entire tree in, no one can tell the difference!!!!

Hello, Macys, I'm talking to you! Stop attracting the big lard monsters with blonde hair, stop adverting for the six foot tall freaks from giant whitey land, stop busting for the kadoinkadoik crowd from O-town! Just stop!

Not that it makes any difference, cause I'm short of money anyhow.

Monday, February 9, 2009

Leonidas milk-chocolates filled with hazelnut paste

Creamy hazelnut and almond paste, or the purest hazelnut puree, enrobed in smoooooth milk chocolate..... mmmm, divine!


Far better than Steel Spring Surpise™, though you might not think so. Also better than Ramsbladder Cup™, but perhaps not as good as Crunchy Frog™.
The jury is still out, though no longer hospitalized.

Really. This is seriously good stuff. Leonidas rocks. That stuff from Godiva is just muck. Can't compare.
What did you expect from a dowdy naked bint on a horse anyway?

Friday, February 6, 2009

Warren, stop that!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So today near the rear stairs on the second floor Warren called me a 'puh teet gar-lettt!'
I had to look it up. It's French. Petite Gallette. A small freeform crusted pastry with a fruity filling, usually berries. Small is petite. And gallette means something like a tart (pastry, not Tenderloin!!!!!!).

Warren is a pervert, a degenerate, and a hahm-sap low. Either that, or he's a reincarnated pastry chef. Whatever.

At least I'm not a Gallette Lyonaise (spuds, bacon, and onion).
Which actually looks delicious.

Gallette Lyonaise (gah-lett Lee-onn-ays)

Two or three coarsely mashed potatoes, two rashers bacon chopped and crisped, two chopped onions browned in butter or the bacon grease, big pinches nutmeg, mace, salt, pepper. Mix and put in a baking dish, smooth the top but leave ridges and peaks. Brush with butter or more bacon grease and set it under the broiler till crisp and golden on top. Serve with roast pork and gravy, or juicy chops. Even lamb chops.

Warren must satisfy this burning hunger for baked products. Somebody feed him, before he starts nibbling! Or hit him severely with a baguette!! Which he would probably enjoy.

At least nobody heard him. Cause that would've been embarressing, and I would've had to kick him hard in the shins.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009


You have noticed my blogroll, yes? There is a lot of chocolate there. This is not, or maybe it is anyway, in preparation for a feast-day coming up. But I do not expect to get any.

I wouldn't know what to do if I did. I've never gotten chocolate on V-day. the idea is kinda gross. Would I be expected to give something in return? And if so, what? It seems so trashy, unless you actually know the person and you liked him. Which is not the case. Not now. Not before college.

What would I do if creepy Warren gave me chocolates - NOT THAT THAT IS LIKELEY!!!!!
I really don't know. It would be soooo embarrassing! He'd probably do it in front of everybody, too!!!
I'll have to avoid him, he's daffy enough that he might pull something like that.
I can buy my own chocolates.
And I know what kinds I like.
You have noticed my blogroll, yes?

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Yay! One year closer to ....... what?

So I'm now like one year older. Which is a major milepost, cause when you're this age, every extra year is like that. I'm also heavier (but still women's size extra small in most things), by reason of eating nearly half a cake yesterday. Peaches and cream between anglefood. With whup cream icing. And sugar rosettes.
It came from double A bakery on stockton street.
It was a very large cake.
Very very large.


Auntie Wah (and her big white boyfriend!), uncle Booboo, uncle Fatty, Grannie, Nie, my cousin Chee, Pang-sook, and Ah-Fei came over. Plus Mom and Dad and my brothers, and Mei and her galumpish husband-thingy were there. And naturally Richard, who stayed up in my room the whole time.
But the cake was much too big.
Later at night I went to the kitchen and got two more large slices, one for me, one for Richard - who was in my room the whole time.

Richard really really liked the cake. And wanted one more piece. So I went and got it for him.
He was soooooooo excited!

Frogs love cake. It's that simple.
All amphibs like cake, but frogs especially.
You've seen Kermit get excited on television?
It ain't the pig, buster. It's pure sugar.

Monday, February 2, 2009

Raisin you!

Warren is doing it again!!!!!!!!!!!!
He no longer calls me zesty crumpett, he now calls me raisin bun. If that's a crack about my squinty eyes, I am SO GOING TO CLOBBER HIM!!!!!
But it probably reflects a thing for baked goods. No wonder he's pasty faced. All that dough.

Cakeface will find out soon enough not to mess with a hot cross bun if he goes on like this!

Oh, and happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me...... Yay!!!!