that song stuck in your head
herbalist
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Monday night at 11pm, I find myself in the middle of Connecticut, sitting in the living room of a Chinese herbalist. This dude, who slightly resembles the illustration at left, starts to feel my pulse. Of course, I try to hold my breath and mess with his reading. He takes a look at my hands and feels my pulse again. He stops to write some mumbo jumbo on his 99 cent spiral notepad. Then, he goes to his kitchen. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but if I had to guess, he was having himself a sprite and cupcakes. |
He then comes back with what looks like a collection of bulldog dung, all wrapped up in Ziploc bags. He also gives me a jar of what looks like mud from his backyard. He then explains to me that it is mud from his backyard, and that it took him 7 hours to cook up the dirt paste. Needless to say, I’ve been chewing on herbal dung and rubbing mud on myself for the past few days. What can I say, I’m Chinese.
Maybe a “what the O_o” moment for you, but not for me. I’m a man of adventure.
