THE FERMENTATION

Per news reports about the coming weather, the worst is yet to come. Which means that hearing those rain spatters shortly after eight o'clock might send you wailing for the shelter. Where are the sandbags? My tarpaulin, my tarpaulin! Are we insured? In case we're flooded out, is my cell phone fully charged so that FEMA knows how to find me and save me first?

Waaaaugh! Or something like that.

Personally I'm not too worried. This building has survived earthquakes, rainstorms, as well as the hippie era. We're uphill on a slope in a part of the city where the worst floods since Noah landed the Hindenburg were a burst water main. And there are both a liquor store and a Korean fried chicken place within walking distance. So we're okay.

One headline even mentioned something of "Bibilical Proportions". Must have been written by a refugee from Texas, where everything is 'Biblical Proportions', including the dog getting skunked and grampaw having an attack of gout. Left big toe.

Oh, and we're quite distant from any seafront, salt flats, tidal marshes, or crumbling coastal cliffs. So massive waves crashing in through the basement windows before the kraken reaches out to eat us man from limb are not likely.

It is, apparently, going to rain all night, with unseasonably warm temperatures.

During the lull before the storm today, we had a meeting of the local pipe club. More people showed up than I expected, and I feasted on the charcuterie and cheeses because, as usual, Neil had bought too much. And there was mustard. Several tobaccos got smoked -- Eccentric from Sutliff and Aberrant, both compounded by Per George Jensen, both outstanding -- and there were bottled beverages in which I did not indulge for medical reasons. Our South African member is back from stomping around the hellholes of the world for the time being, and we discussed his famous ancestor. The East Frisian did not show up; possibly because of the traffic, what with everybody roaring down the Bay Area highways on the first dry day happy to be be free at last, free at last. It would have been a dangerous drive.


I think all the members present enjoyed themselves immensely.

First dry day, happy to be free at last.

During the early years after the company moved to Bush Street I purchased the pipe above from one of San Francisco's most dysfunctional tobacco stores. It's a splendid smoke.
Today it had aged reds with a modicum of condimental leaf in it. It sang.

While we were gaily disporting ourselves with our lovely pieces of wood in front of the shrine to snooty Dominicans out front, the poisonous old sots in the backroom engaged in extreme rightwing blithering, when not screaming at the telly. One or two of them probably had to change their incontinence pants during the ball game. No matter.
I hope they all die of bedsores.


Tomorrow, when the rain lessens, I'll go have some jook and a yautiu.
A welcome change after suburban muck these past few days.
I am keenly looking forward to that.

TOBACCO INDEX


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