I AM MAGIC!

It isn't a midlife crisis, it's the common cold. A man only gets ONE midlife crisis (which happened during my twenties, if you have to know, it's over), but the common cold is something experienced a couple of times a year, new each time, and it makes you feel miserable.
I am presently miserable.
But upbeat.

Not going out tonight, as whiskey will temporarily alleviate the symptoms, but make them worse tomorrow morning. Sneezing throughout the day, which did not improve my enjoyment of my pipe, but did not rupture anything either. It's not as bad as the previous cold.

The good thing is that no one tried to hug me.
Random physicality means an infection.
Potent defense during holidays.

It maintains dignity.


WHAT DO YOU DO?

On one of the Facebook forums to which I pay attention, the question was asked what readers did for a living. Naturally I did not answer, as somebody there was bound to be a creep or a stalker.
Me, for instance; I know where you work.

I could have responded.


Thus:

During the working day I play with pipes, and gently, delicately, fondle nice cigars. I also occasionally clean the espresso machine, because none of my blessed coworkers seem to know how to do that. They have not a clue where all that nasty blue mold in the overflowing used grounds bin comes from, or the oily grey slime. It remains a profound mystery!
I sometimes wonder why they are not dead yet.

I never drink coffee at work, by the way.

They are also completely baffled by the location of the garbage cans out in the parking lot. I can almost hear them petulantly asking why life is so hard.

And I babysit middle-aged crybabies who are afraid of modernity; Dave, Danny, John, and "Dick" all want the dark ages back, when they could whip the slaves and harvest organs at will. Things were good then!

I no longer talk about politics with them, I just fondly imagine their heads on spikes instead. It is better for one's equilibrium.


'Prithee sirra, I be an alchimiste; hast need of art such as mine?'


And afterwards?

Sometimes, after work, I go the Occidental for stale coffee over ice and a glass of whiskey in a smoke-filled room. Not too often anymore, because the cigar smokers there are seldom gentled by a female presence, and keep howling at a television screen filled by big masculine bottoms tightly garbed in shiny fabric. Or loose floppy fabric, if basketball is on.

At times I am starved for company, and I despair of finding intelligent life.

Sportsfans do not qualify.


During my days-off I read a fair amount, and often go into Chinatown for snacks and hot beverages. Many of the residents there are considerably less offensively opinionated, and more joyfully alive. They have a cocksure egalitarian sensibility which is sorely lacking in Marin County.
'If I am as good as you, then you are as good as me.'
That sentiment seemingly cannot be voiced.
By people smoking cigars.

Yes, I rather like the company of most pipe smokers, but it is unfortunate that many of them are men, and I'm not at all sure if they like noodles.

Obsessively I feel that noodles are very important.
Some chicken noodle soup especially.
It's sort of a mouth thing.


Update as of 9:09 PM: 

香辣檳城福建蝦麵

Heo-lat Penang Hokkien hae-mi. Hot and fragrant Penang-style Hokkien shrimp noodles in soup, made with dried shrimp, seafood bits (in lieu of shrimp heads), lapcheong (instead of pork ribs), and stalky mustard for crunch. Pinch sugar. Fried shallot and fresh chopped scallion.
Yellow noodles.

And a sambal: chilies, shallots, garlic, oil.

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