IT'S AN IRONIC GESTALT, YOU SHINY-PATED DINGO!

A reader accuses me of being Hello Kitty obsessed. Which is a foul lie. Rather than obsessed, I am happily ambivalent about the cretinous little feline, and use her iconography to score points and irritate some people. Like, for instance, the pompous bald-headed dog-freak in Marin County who thinks he's so funny.

Simple minds are easily swayed.

Partly, this is because I use a snazzy Hello Kitty backpack to carry all my smoking requisites (briar pipes, tobacco blends, tampers, matches, cleaners) whenever I make the arduous trek to the wild lands north of the Golden Gate Bridge, partly because of the ease with which I can illustrate the paradigm of ickiness.

Here are all the Hello Kitty images I have done.

Does that say obsessive?

I think not!


If anything, it positively screams rational balance, and a sensitive middle-aged Dutch American soul that appreciates pipes, cigars, art, literature, and furthermore, a gentleman who is a good listener and remarkably trim, given that the overwhelming majority of people in my age-group veer towards overweightness and have made some incredibly bad choices in their lives (like moving to Marin, for instance).

I have sparkling eyes (behind reading specs), a neat goatee and moustache combination, and warm gentle hands.
Quite the opposite of an IT physique!

Good lord, I've read Proust!

I totally radiate sanity!


Animals like me. They can smell the goodness within.

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