Duncan's Blog

Boy, could I create a long list of verbs to fill in the blank !

They're out there. The two names that come to my mind when I hear the category are Matteo Lane (m) and Jessica Kirson (f). I've seen others thanks to YOUTUBE reels; Modi Rosenfeld (m), Wanda Sykes (f), Ellen Degeneres (f)...

I find YOUTUBE reels to be sadly addictive. I can either skip through them if I know from the get-go that the story will be a snoozer. There are some that are snippets from television programs I had never seen before such as THE GOOD WIFE or SUITS. And then there are numerous ones with animals. With these I am particular about what interests me. For example, I am not interested in seeing the behavior of horses or donkeys. However, the antics of a baby elephant seem to fascinate me. I could watch something like that almost all day long.

... but I digress.

The comedians/comediennes of today have a stupid, repetitive format that they follow as part of what they call scanning the audience.
"What's your name?"
"What do you do?"
Jessica K will usually YELL back what the person has said (or whisper the response if it is given to her that way). She might then describe how boring the career choice is or -- less frequently -- be blown away by someone who is brilliant or accomplished and who has agreed to be(come) victimized by this infantile humor.

What then might follow is a litany of searching questions: "Who are you with?" "Are you in a relationship?" "You're gay, right?" She drops the f-bomb and talks about lesbian sexual practices. (And people bring their mothers to these shows).

If a member of the audience is Jewish, she might do a compare and contrast. The same holds true if an audience member admits to being from New Jersey.

Matteo at least has some class. He was classically trained to sing and he takes pride in his ability to cook. He has a friend who is an uptight white-bred realtor who is humorless that he schlepps along as his foil. Matteo is particularly fond of letting the world know that his buddy, Nick, is partial to getting his Italian food from the Olive Garden.

I have reached my saturation limit on these. I went to a COMEDY CLUB in Las Vegas with a friend of mine from Boise. Surprisingly/shockingly we were seated in the front. I let my cohort do the talking.

I guess comedy just isn't funny to me these days!

It's approaching 6pm (1800 in my parlance) and I am quietly seething each time I open the curtain and look at the loaded truck bed in my driveway.

...

TIme has passed (about a week) and I have found a level of peace. I offered to take an old (and elderly) friend to the airport. I had offered to let him put his car in my driveway, but he had refused. Time had passed and he was packing, and moving his stuff... Then, one day before the day he was supposed to depart, he had made a change in the plans. He told me that he was going to leave his truck in my driveway and that he was going to spend the night.
It was drizzling and raining on and off. His truck bed was packed. Some of the packing was in cardboard boxes, others were paper sacks, unzipped luggage, or small dustbins that he had filled to the brim. He had perishables that were unmarked... open, eaten fruit. GROSS.
I live a retiring life and I told him that I don't like things that bring attention to my home. An open truck bed with 'stuff' is an invitation for pilfering. So, little by little, I dragged the things inside and opted to put them in my basement.
He was slow to get up in the morning. I was up at 4:30. His flight wasn't until 9:30 but he needed 2 hours lead time for his Hawaii-bound flight. He dawdled. I offered him coffee and he said he wanted it half-and-half. "What does that mean?"
"Half coffee and half milk," he said.
So, I made half a cup of dripped coffee and added half a cup on heated, non-fat milk.
He complained that the coffee was served hot.
Two things that bug the sh*t out of me are people who put ice cubes in their hot coffee (unless they're fixing to make iced coffee). Oh, and the other thing is people who put ice cubes in their soup. Yup, I've seen it. Horrifying!
When we got to the airport I had dropped him off at the departure section right in front of the door.
"You're not coming in?"
I told him that it was a red loading/unloading zone. My car would be towed away. I'd have to park in a garage and walk with him. Time was of the essence.
For whatever reason, he was too late and they would not let him board.
I kept repeating my mantra. "This is your sh*t. This ain't on me!"
He phoned me from Maui. He wound up changing his flight to another airline. I told him to notify the original airline of this change. "If you don't use the outbound flight of a roundtrip ticket, the airline cancels the return flight."
"I'll get on it."
Will he? Who knows?!
So, his sh*t is in my basement and will remain there for 2 months. I pray there are no bugs.
I am certain this will be the last day I offer my services of help.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=OvQsDs7v8TA

Most cultures can be adapted to vegetarianism. Vegan may not be an easy choice (without importing), but vegetarianism is not impossible. I had this verified by a vegetarian I know is Iceland. Many of the Scandinavian countries rely on fish for their protein.
I was raised on a meat-centric diet and even though my family ate Cantonese food every now and again, the choices were Americanized versions of shell fishes to which I was allergic. Needless to say, MSG laden shrimp and lobster sauce was not on my RADAR.
The most vegetarian dish that 'my people' ate in Chinese restaurants was egg roll. One would have to be vigilant in verifying that there wouldn't be any shrimp in the roll. Even most of the soups either had shrimp base or meat-filled dumplings.
I've made this dish in the past. It's a winner and a keeper. It has a lot of ingredients. Alas, I no longer have a wok in my home. But... maybe one day... things might change.
...
During my year-long lifestyle between vegetarianism and veganism, I looked through cookbooks from every culture that was familiar to me. Many Asian countries have a multitude of vegetarian dishes and with those dishes come a variety of cooking styles. I bought a wok. I no longer own a wok. It is a large, bowl-shaped pan used for frying food. The liquids (soy sauce, oil, vinegar, vegetable juices) remain in the center of the wok where the vegetables are shuffled around with utensils resembling a shovel and something else.

African American cooking can be easily adapted to vegetarian fare. Many of their dishes involve a variety of greens which--from what I remember--are related to broccoli and/or cabbage. According to Wiki:

"Collard is a group of loose-leafed cultivars of Brassica oleracea, the same species as many common vegetables including cabbage and broccoli. Part of the Acephala (kale) cultivar group, it is also classified as the variety B. oleracea var. viridis.

"The plants are grown as a food crop for their large, dark-green, edible leaves, which are cooked and eaten as vegetables. Collard greens have been cultivated as food since classical antiquity."

Following the cooking patterns of the cultures that eat these vegetables, I learned how to blanch, fry, sautée, and stew. Sometimes one cooking technique would not be suitable across the board for all vegetables. Collards, for example, have thick, dense stems. I would often remove the stem and start cooking them first. I would then add the leaves later after the stems had softened.

My North American cooking and recipes and tastes came mostly from Central or Eastern Europe. A good deal of the dishes were vegetables and often fruits. These would be eaten with cheese or other dairy products. In some cases, fruits or vegetables might be added as fillings into a dough that would be fried (like potato, cheese, or berry-filled blintzes). My family had recipes for carrot casseroles that might have dried fruits and for baked potatoes in a variety of fashions.

I discovered South and Central American cuisine late(r) in life. Truth be hold, the majority of my familiarity with the cuisine involves rice and beans. Occasionally I might include plantains, but I tended to stay away from starches that were on the sweet side as they are temptations for over indulgence. "You can always tell the superior from the inferior plantains when you bring them home. If the paper sack is laden with stains from lard that has been left behind, you know you've got a good batch!" Not my sentiment these days, but it certainly had crossed my mind a number of times.

A good Buddha's Feast will seldom be overlooked by me

I have had instructors who could have done either.

I used to be able to say that I remember all of the foreign language teachers in my life. The list has grown to a nearly impossible one. Foreign language learning began in grade school for me with an Italian teacher who had access to a language lab. In junior high/intermediate school I had one year of Italian followed by two years of Spanish. By high school freshman year, I was placed in a Regents Spanish class that would have ended my study of language in most high schools. My school, however, insisted that all disciplines be followed throughout the four-year academic course. So, I had Spanish electives.
In the senior year of high school, I took French I. I was in a class of freshmen. It was the first time I felt as if I were the big fish in the little pond. The instructor was rigorous, and a know-it-all and she found me challenging. Unlike most, she rather liked the challenge. She was the bully, and I laughed.
I also had Yiddish both in a private pre-teen school and later on the college level.
Did I mention that I learned German auto-didactically. Not the best way to learn a modern language. Why, you ask? Because the textbooks that I had accessed were from the turn of the previous century. Much of the vocabulary was useless and you can probably imagine what pre-WWI German culture might be like. Not exactly USA-centric!
Along the way I would take a year of Italian or a year of French at a local community college. This would help me build a vocabulary and remind me of the long-forgotten rules of grammar.
Here and there I would come across an exceptional professor. The one who shines in my mind was/is a lesbian from Berkeley by way of Houston. By the time I met her she had had her PhD for a decade and was teaching at a city university in New York. Many years later she told me of her passion for music. "My parents used to play together. Not professionally. Dad was quite accomplished on the violin and mother played piano." She said she had thought of studying music to the higher/highest levels and become a music teacher.
Imagine deciding your academic and life choice as if it were nothing more than a toss of a coin. Heads it's Mozart, tales it's Kafka.
I never cared much for music. I don't play. I don't sing. I don't listen. Oh, I have a collection of 45s and 33-1/3s, but I seldom listen to anything. The radio dial is set to NPR. If I do belt out a song, it's generally a German one. You seldom have to worry about anyone singing along when you're gently singing the words of Heino hits such as
Blau blüht der Enzian