Sunday, May 16, 2021

'TIS THE SEASON

In Spring a young man's fancy turns to love. Except in San Francisco, where a sensible young man's fancy must, by necessity, turn to four layers of clothing, setting fire to things, and carving out the innards of a Taun Taun and sheltering from the beastly cold. It's fifty degrees out there right now. Freezing. Horrid weather for smoking a pipe, especially if you factor in the wind.

I noticed that in old teevee shows the hero and his with-it friends are mostly cigarette smokers, the sleazy goombas puff cigars, and the probable killer or white collar criminal is a pipe smoker. Which I find objectionable. The script writers have a lot to answer for. The only likeable pipe smokers are the senile old git and the friendly slightly insane neighbor.

I am neither senile NOR slightly insane.

What I am is bitterly cold.
When I was a teenager, you didn't have to brave the elements to enjoy your pipe. Or kill your Taun Taun. You could smoke a pipe inside a warm cafe with a hot beverage, while reading the newspapers, and no one would say anything. It was a kinder gentler age, the Republicans hadn't succeeded in raping the country yet, and everybody wore their damned masks.

Things have changed. This place is going to hell in a handbasket.
Expect a STRONGLY worded letter to the editor!



In other news, I've switched one of my medications from morning to tea-time, because I noticed that nine hours after taking it, my calves would hurt and feel excessively tired, making the end of the working day fairly abysmal, and sabotaging my twilights on days off. This way, if walking becomes a pain in the gand it will be after one in the morning, when I shouldn't be climbing those SF hills anyway.

Sane people do not stroll all over Nob Hill in their pajamas.

The furthest they might go is Bob's Donuts.


Coffee, apple fritter, pipe full of Red Virginia and Perique.
While contemplating murder and white collar crimes.
Sounds like a solid slice of heaven.



TOBACCO INDEX


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