At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Monday, September 25, 2006

I DID NOT GO

This being San Francisco, it is probably worth-while to mention some of the wonderful things I could have done this past weekend.


1. Attend the Love Parade.
[I think that's what it was called - a hippy tribute to the sixties and the love thing, with Haight-Ashbury types, happy morons, and aged drugheads slowly going down Market Street to Civic Center to listen to dated music. Or something like that (I did not go). ]

2. Go to SF Jazz-Festival.
[The less I say about big themed music festivals, the better. I do not party with thousands of my nearest and dearest - if there are thousands, they certainly aren't my nearest and dearest. Bah humbug (I did not go).]

3. Leather it up gaily at the Folsom Street Fair.
[An annual event involving skintights, hot straps, bare cheeks, studs, studs wearing studs, and big fat men with too little clothing. Spanking and beer. Happy wholesome perversion and good cheer. Male bonding. Not my scene, though (I did not go).]

4. Watch the Pittsburg Steelers on teevee over at Dove's house, and witness his head exploding.
[Need I mention that Dove is a Steeler's fan? And that for him the world pretty much came to an end, turned dark and depressing and filled with angst? Yes, his dreams have been shattered, truly a ghastly turn of events, oh sadness, oh fates (I did not go).]

5. Head to the Embarcadero to dump cake-crumbs into the Bay.
[Something to do with symbollically casting-off the sins of the last year. I would remind you of a quote from Adderabbi a few weeks back about who gets called an idiot, and several sarcastic comments from Dovbear in years past. If Dov says anything snarky about tashlich this year, RenReb has threatened to give him one but good (I did not go).]


So what did I do this weekend?

I acted like a cabbage. Stayed at home for two days smoking a pipe and reading Tanya (that is to say, the Rav. Adin Steinsaltz book which translates and mefarshifies - the Liadite's original lashon is a wee bit beyond me).


Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage.


I did not go anywhere.

It was an excellent weekend.

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