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.

Thursday, October 20, 2016


To quote a person who has far more experience over there than any of the rest of us, "that's the second dumbest thing I've heard in Marin". I did not ask him what the dumbest thing was, because I could already see the conversation leading to existenzangst, and self-doubt. "What am I doing here", I might well ask, "and is there any hope for humanity?"

You never want to be in a position where you ask yourself those questions in Marin. For many people it leads to mysticism, yoga, and food hang-ups.

Saints preserve us from mystical white folks.
And their yoga. Or their food hang-ups.

I'm perfectly fine with my present set of food hang-ups. Hot piles of gluten (delicious pasta!), meat (ooh, scrumptious!), dairy products from cows with emotional states and karma that mean nothing to me (cheese! I must have some cheese!), the sacred duality of foie gras and veal (cotellette de veau grilée, couronnée de foie gras poêlé et réduction de vin rouge), plus gmos, vegetables that most white people won't touch, divers types of chili pepper, and a haphazard mingling of natural and artificial flavours.

What set off this series of events was a parking lot tirade.

"I blame the Catholic Church for this, yes the Catholic Church! I want them held responsible, there ought to be laws! Wherever the Catholic Church has been there's a disrespect for normal human values, boundaries, order, and other people's property! See that? That there? That's what I'm talking about! It's Catholicism! The Catholics!"

We strained to see what he was talking about.

Surely it wasn't the Peet's coffee cup?

Neatly placed on one of the lines?

It was.

Because it so disturbed him, we cleaned it up.

I am awfully tempted to go to Marin on a day off, early in the morning, to put three or four cups there waiting for him. Because he would never suspect me. I am not Catholic.

For the record, I don't do yoga, scorn mysticism, have never dabbled in white folks Buddhism (or any other kind), despise self-appointed food phobes, can't stand pot, do not play a guitar, and have never chanted mantras or 'om'. I am not spiritual, I only visit Marin for the tobacco.

I drink coffee in San Francisco.

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


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