Chapter 64

I did my tai chi, drank my green tea, and sat down to read the news while listening to a chillwave playlist and then an album by The Go-Gos. The UFC just cut a 9-figure deal with a big betting site, and fans are furious. As much as I love the sport and religiously tune in every week, the way the organization is run reeks of pure scumbaggery. Fighters used to get a big part of their income from sponsorships, in most cases getting paid more for having a sponsor’s logo on their shorts that what they’d get from their fight purses, but that ended abruptly when Reebok became the sole apparel sponsor and they started wearing those bland uniforms. In the face of the backlash from the athletes (who also mentioned the poor quality of the gear, and several serious blunders like misspelling names), the UFC said it looks more “professional” that way. Yet, the octagon is plastered with shitty ads, and the announcers are constantly reading ad scripts before, during and after fights.

I listened to a lot of post-metal and sludge in the early part of the day and between classes: Amenra, Farer and Impure Wilhelmina. I like how these subgenres mix crushing heaviness and ambient melodies, and I also like how fresh they feel to my untrained ears, unlike death and thrash metal that I still love but feels stale oftentimes. I had three organic chemistry classes with the eleventh-graders in the morning and they went well, I’m struggling to even remember anything worth saying six hours later as I’m writing this, which is a good sign. Or maybe I have onset Alzheimer’s.

I reheated the curry, adding a big glug of coconut milk, and like every curry I’ve ever made, it was much better the second day. In the future I should cook the curry and leave it in the fridge overnight. I watched a few wrestling and MMA related videos, including the UFC 259 press conference. Israel Adesanya spouted a bunch of uncharismatic clichés, Amanda Nunes was all smiles, being UFC’s first mom champ (though she went through a serious loophole to get that distinction), Jan Blachowicz got very little mic time, and Aljamain Sterling tried to engage Piotr Yan in an exchange of insults but the fact it had to be done through a translator made the whole thing look stupid.

I did the dishes and put the rest of the beef chunks in the slow cooker after browning them, frying some onions in butter over the caked up browned bits, and deglazing the fond with huangjiu, a bitter Chinese wine that old people around these parts drink but that I mostly use for cooking. I also threw in basil, oregano, bay leaves, paprika, tons of black pepper, cumin, sugar syrup, and a spoonful of chili paste. I let it cook on low for five hours.

My afternoon rolled by fast, I had a double with Attitude Class and some students came back from the break really late. I told them to wait another five minutes before knocking on the door. I have to admit I sometimes come to class a bit late myself or right as class is scheduled to start, which is a bad example. I’d better sort this out.

I listened to a Ryan Long podcast. He talked about the Karen meme and the feminist publications who are outraged by how it’s used to silence women’s voices and also how many accusations of “being a Karen” are unfounded. Ryan pointed out that a lot of feminists have been doing the same exact thing to men and just like cancel culture in which sometimes the canceler becomes the cancelee, they shouldn’t be surprised that they can also be put in a virtual pillori. Not only is Ryan Long extremely funny, he’s also quite the astute social observer and commentator.

On the way home, I bought a pound of jackfruit, and ate it all in one sitting. I watched the 7 Jours Sur Terre episode from last week, the two topics were Australia trying to legislate Google and Facebook ads, and the need for a new nuclear weapons treaty that takes into account smaller warheads that were not built during the Cold War and also the fact that China now has a pretty big arsenal and should also sign. Of course they don’t want anything to do with it.

The stew in the crockpot now filled the apartment with a delicious smell, and I added some pieces of shanyao (some kind of root like a potato or a yam) half an hour before I turned it off. That stupid fucken vegetable is the most annoying to handle, you need to be very careful not to touch its skin when you peel it, otherwise you’ll itch like a motherfucker. Also, it’s very thin, so its surface-to-volume ratio is high and therefore requires a lot of peeling just to get a few small pieces. I only peeled two of them before I rage-quit, and dealt with a terrible itch on my left hand and my upper right arm (that I touched with my left hand like a derp) for the next half-hour.

The girlfriend came back from work, and we went to walk the dog. There was a lady walking her pug, and both dogs circled around trying to smell each other’s butthole. A lot of people love pugs and think they’re cute, I can’t say I dislike them or any other dog breed aside from pitbulls (fuck pitbulls and pitbull apologists), but they clearly are genetic abominations. That poor little pig-like animal kept wheezing, due to its deformed head, and couldn’t even walk properly on its atrophied little legs. It’s a bit disturbing but hey, my dog has a massive underbite and a deformed penis so who am I to talk?

Entering the top 400 of the so-called best albums of all time, I was faced with a Brian Wilson album. Fucken hell, the Beach Boys, again? Surfin’ USA is no doubt a fun song, but the rest of their catalog is cringe, this album being no exception. Then it was The Raincoats, a late-70s female experimental punk album that I can’t describe as fun to listen from beginning to end, but at least it was wacky and way the hell out there.

I went to play badminton. On the 10-minute bike ride there I listened to one of my favorite albums of all time, Agent Orange by Sodom. A true old-school thrash metal masterpiece, and its imperfections (Tom Angelripper’s strong German accent, questionable lyrics in the track titled Incest, recording quality that could be a tiny bit punchier) only makes it more addictive. I played a few games, working up a good sweat, then rode home.

I made myself a burrito with shredded cheese and the beef I’d been braising all day, it hit the spot. Then I took a hot bath. The next Top 500 entry was Billie Eilish’s debut from last year, I’m a bit surprised something that recent would make it there but at the same time the critical and commercial reception of the album has been very positive so it makes sense. I listened to it when it started making waves on the internet and found it very boring, and my opinion hasn’t changed.

I read a few chapters from The Road Chose Me before bed. Dan was driving down the western coast of Africa, dealing with corrupt scumbag cops constantly trying to extort money out of him, malaria, gas shortages and impassable muddy roads. Reading this, I was wondering what the hell is the point and why he puts himself voluntarily in such situations, before remembering that my favorite hobby, in which I’ve put tens of thousands of dollars over the years, is rough off-the-beaten-path travel and that I also have been through immense piles of shit like that, although maybe not quite to that level. I know the highs and how addictive they are, that’s why I and countless other intrepid (crazy?) travelers keep going back on the road. Barely a day goes by where the girlfriend and I don’t talk about near- or medium-future plans.