SOUNDS TOO MUCH LIKE THEM

Per ancient tradition (at least several years) the bookseller and myself meet up once a week for drinkies after burgers. That is to say, he has a burger, because he's all esurient after a long day at the bookmines, and having eaten earlier I simply snatch some of his fries. This used to entail a glass of rotgut red for both of us, but I finally gave up on that wine there because I'm a wussy.

Then we head around the corner for beer, and whiskey to finish at a third place. Seeing as I'm on medications that might interact badly with alcohol, I simply have hot tea at both places. On top of the chilled caffeinated beverage I had at the burger joint I end up wired to the tits by the time I get home.

I like burgers. July Fourth is THE burger day. Can a person even be said to have observed the holiday if no burgers were enjoyed? By the way, Independence Day is also the day when vegans and pets hide under the bed because they're scared. Vegans because of burgers, dogs because of the thundrous racket that last night went on for over four hours.

There were no vegans hiding under my bed.
I'm sure of that, I always check.

Normally this beef and rotgut extravaganza occurs on a Tuesday, because of his and my schedule. It used to happen on Fridays, which was almighty interesting because while we were always modest drinkers, much of San Francisco was drunk out of their little pinheads by that time. It also happens earlier in the evening now because he gets off work sooner.
The worst that happens these days is white trash karaoke.
Neither one of us sings. Ever.
So we suffer.

To quote John Cleese: "I am one who delights in all manifestations of the Terpsichorean muse ... shut up!" The first and last part of that citation were from different bits.
But I'm sure he would say it at a karakoke joint, in exactly that order.


This week we gave the ritual a miss. Not to celebrate, but because there were far too many yobbos out, as there always are when the twenty something dude crowd has a convenient excuse to swill beer. New Years, Saint Patricks Day, Cinco De Mayo .....
Rosh Hashana, Labour Day, The World Series .....


The "pipe for watching rats in Spofford Alley" did not get smoked.
Last pipe of the day was a delightful old French piece.

Rubbed Virginia, touch of Fire-cured.
Quiet contemplation.



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