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.

Sunday, October 11, 2015


All things considered I should probably not have had such a good time on Thursday. It simply postponed the inevitable, and made it far worse.
I started the day with a serious cold that interfered with my sense of smell. Which, if you consider my fondness for fine tobacco products, should have told me to lay off smoking for a while, as it would not be as enjoyable as it normally is.

But I had a Virginia blend of my own devising -- think of something similar to Esoterica's Dunbar, but with a smidge of Latakia -- and an aged tin of HH Old Dark Fired with me, as well as half a dozen fine briars. It was a fine day, and the trip to Marin in the morning left me feeling refreshed.
Surely my plugged nose was a minor obstacle?

Pipe club meeting that evening!
Oh boy!

Four cheeses, crudités, dip, chocolate, wine, and sparkling water.
A dozen solid citizens with fine wooden objects.
Plus crackers and biscotti.

By that time I couldn't smell a damned thing.

In all honesty I cannot remember much of the actual meeting. Some weird Scandinavian blends were on the table, dark Virginias, funky aromatic mixtures, as well as two jars of Perique.
It was a good meeting.


On the way back to the city, I described the Henry Darger Cocktail to Michael, as well as the background necessary to understanding it.

It's an adventurous libation.

Take a long drink glass, fill it with ice cubes, pour in an ounce and a half of Bourbon, drizzle grenadine, dash of bitters, and fill it up to the brim with soda water or ginger ale. Add a swizzle stick or bendy straw
Drop in a cocktail cherry for decoration.

Hard-core Shirley Temple.

Henry Darger.

At this point, having already had six pipefuls during the day, as well as the odd cigar or two, my cold seemed deceptively in remission, but it may have been just clubbed into obedience.

Liquor affects the mind, more so when you're running a fever.

For some reason I cannot fathom, I was insistent, when I left the Oxxy several hours later, that anti-gmo activists, anti-vaxers, and the toxic far right wing of the Republican party were all equally insane.
Rabid, dangerous, and unmitigatedly evil.

I was in high spirits.

Friday, consequently, was a little slice of hell. Full blown flu symptoms, plugged respiratory apparatus, gastric distress, and an achy shaky fever. The headstrong postponement of symptoms simply made it all worse, and combining this with a hangover added a tinge of utter misery.
I did not leave the house all day on Friday.
Or change into grown-up clothes.
Weak tea, and soup.

Sore throat, bad cough, trouble breathing.

Nor did I smoke a pipe, though I did mix up another batch of my blend.

I spent most of the day on the internet picking fights with anti-vaxxers and organic food activists, including idiots who believe that the flu-shot is going to be used to wipe out fifteen percent of the world population because of something that Bill Gates said.

I'm blaming Republicans and health nuts for everything that is wrong in this world. As well as shitty aromatics.


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All correspondence will be kept in confidence.



  • At 6:53 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    The worst of the flu is the inability to enjoy either pipe or dram.

    Get well soon.



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