YOU ARE ALL INFINITELY PRECIOUS!

The other day someone remarked that I complain a lot here on my blog. My apartment mate seems to take it for granted that I am often grumpy (albeit harmless). Someone else recently took umbrage to my hate-filled rant celebrating the death of Pat Robertson. And I realize that I have too many negative thoughts about complete strangers who don't deserve the bad karma or whatever.


You know something? I've become an unpleasant old fart.


I've got to change that. This is not how I planned to be when I was still in highschool and imagined my future as a mad-scientist emperor of the world. Adding to it all the fact that at times I'm a crashing bore, this may explain why my social life isn't quite up to snuff.


Recently I found myself love reacting to a meme in which a woman mentioned that a guy she had the hots for ghosted her after a first date in which she blessed him with a twenty minute lecture on the coelecanth. I can see myself doing that. Her mistake was that she didn't bring diagrams and helpful illustrations. The coelecanth is much more facinating if you don't have to fill in the colours mentally. Undoubtedly he went home and spent the next four hours on the internet reading about pelagic biology.

So, even though someone described the pipe club meetings as a bunch of old men smoking pipes, if you like that sort of thing, in a discussion about a pouch of tobacco with a woman pipesmoker during which yesterday's get-together was mentioned anticipatorily, I enjoyed the afternoon immensely. Felt physically whacked afterwards -- painfully aching feet starting just below the sternum, mental discord and chaos by the time I got home, and strangely lethargic and disconnected mentally -- and I'm still kind of out of it all.


"A buch of old men smoking, if you like that sort of thing!"


Dude, shut up! I'm trying to get her to come tomorrow. You're not helping! The more the merrier, and we need to get our average age down to around thirty. Someone's got to push us out to the only legally allowed municipal smoking area (probably the salt flats or the city dump) when we are in our nineties and in wheelchairs. And it ain't gonna be you.

By the way, what do you know about the coelecanth?

I'm enjoying the pipe picture above at present. The shape and finish remind me of former military pilots bushwhacking around South East Asia from one remote and primitive airfield to another, as well as broken electric fans in corrugated-roof office buildings that stank of insect spray and cigarettes. Trim men. Sometimes skeletal. But always neatly shaven, because a man has to have standards, especially out in the wilds.

There was a bottle of Kaopectate in my kit then, which I had bought a few years before on the advice of a friend in Manila, who said I would need it.
I never broke the seal.


In any case, I resolve to correct myself. Henceforth I shall be more filled with love and sunshine towards my fellow human beings. Little miss Sunshine.
Change is good.



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