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.

Tuesday, July 19, 2016


After reading an article on a clickbait site about first dates that went completely wrong, I realized that none of that applied to me. A long time ago I already had exceptionally acute weirdo radar, and having been single for the past several years in today's San Francisco, that weirdo radar has come back full force, improved, and absolutely totally rocks.
Which is a good thing, because this city is full of it.

Nah, no point in detailing the stuff on that site. Suffice to say that there are some pretty darn dysfunctional folks out there. Who are ... single.

At least I hope they still are.

Many people do not understand the purpose of the first date.

Which is to ascertain how you like your coffee (or other preferred non-alcoholic beverage of whatever temperature), what books you read, and whether you have any food-related hang-ups that preclude social eating.
Also, largely, it's an opportunity to weed out people who hide a streak of insanity a mile wide.

Remarkably, this is also the motivation of the second date.

As well as the third, and several more.

Done properly, you will end up with a man or a woman with whom it is fun to have coffee or other beverages while talking about books and food.
Which is what it's all about in any case.

Given that this is San Francisco, it will not surprise you that there have been no first dates, and even fewer second dates.
I drink a lot of coffee (and other non-alcoholic beverages), but there is nothing romantic about it.
There's nothing to see here, just move along.

Should I ever say "let's go have coffee", you'll know it's pretty serious.


I tend to avoid Starbucks, Peets, and the coffee shops in North Beach, largely because of idiots, dweebs, and artistic types. A long time ago there was a place in my neighborhood with bookshelves and several hundred things to read. When I was still living in North Beach I would occasionally seek refuge there on rainy evenings, and spend a few hours devouring Maigret and Sam Spade, or travel books.
They no longer exist.

The Trieste, on Vallejo and Grant, is a nice place, but unfortunately there are artistic individualists in permanent residence who still recognize me, but cannot remember that the last time we met I indicated that I was not at all enjoying their attempts at conversation, their company, or even having them in the same city block as myself at that moment. This precludes going to the place with the best lattes in town.

The great thing about bakeries in Chinatown is that it takes years for any of the regulars to ever recognize the visiting kwailos, even longer before they say anything.

I've stopped going to any of the places on Polk Street.
Far too many people with electronics.
No Chinese pastries.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.



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