BEGINNING THE WEEKEND

Follows a description of noteworthy activities last night after returning from associating with rabid republican weasels at a smoke-filled environment.

Dang, those people are nuts. Did I ever mention the overweening sense of entitlement some of those folks have? Rational people prefer to sit outside, or utilize the comfy chairs when the raptors are absent. I consider my work therapeutic for them, but sometimes I feel shell shocked.
Good thing there are some pipe smokers too.
Not just cigar-huffing rednecks.

But anyhow.


Activities of note:

1) Ten minutes performing corrective surgery on a Teddy Bear.

The bear in question belongs to my apartment mate, and is named Ms. Bruin. She's a very dignified bear, albeit a little worn.
In many ways she is the totemic presence in our household, as well as being my apartment mate's oldest and best friend.

One of the seams was coming apart.
Tools needed: needle and thread.

I appreciate my apartment mate, and do not wish her to be despondent. So of course my deft fingers were at her disposal for this task.
A mission of mercy.

Respect the bear!


2) Ninety minutes refinishing a pipe.

It's a Peterson System Standard, shape 307. The upper edge needed to be taken down by a fraction to restore the crispness where previous use had rounded it. Additionally, the hole was slightly off. In some ways I am utterly anal-retentive. The woodgrain had an intriguing peculiarity, being from nearer the center of an old burl, probably towards the top. Both the remarkable surface translucence and the refractive quality indicated ancient wood. Peterson System pipes are rather a fondness of mine. I now possess five of them, one of which belonged to my father. The last time I visited him I found another one at a Tobacconist in Woensel -- a dark sandblasted piece made for the European market -- so upon my return to the United States there were two such handsome smoking objects in my luggage.

Fine grit sandpaper, files, and various stains.
A home-made polishing compound.
Plus a bit of heat.


3) Three hours of watching peculiarity in North Beach.

And by peculiarity is meant rambling madness, hippies, and stupid drunks. It's a tradition now hoary with age. No matter how much the Bookseller and I resist, our hostess at the last place we visit on our weekly jaunt demands that we have another drink. When our resolve falters, the next morning brings regret.

Last night was pretty okay. Other than the two of us, there were no other Caucasians in the bar. Nothing spells disaster like a horde of tattooed white twenty-somethings full of themselves belting out karaoke songs and downing shots of cinnamon-whiskey. Likely they are all marketing or sales department coolies trying to regain their missing manhood (or womanhood) by arrogance, misbehaviour, a profound sense of entitlement expressed by forcing everyone else to listen to Hotel California, and pissing drunkenly in their jeans because they cannot figure out where the restroom is (it's right behind them, FYI).

We are very tolerant men. We merely observe.
And mentally encourage them to leave.
Please get run over out there.
Find a bus somewhere.


Our hostess at the third place is over a decade older than we are. Her liver probably needs a vacation. Karaoke is nobody's business.

The other woman there last night is a very naughty girl.
But she's going back to school, which is good.
She left before the madness ended.
Which is even better.


I don't have to go to work again till Friday.

Snackiepoos, milk tea, long walks.

No mayhem planned.

Pipe.



Oh, plus ogling girlies. I am a very clean man, but my eyes are a bit dirty-minded. Training them to be otherwise has proven quite impossible.




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