MEMORY TOOL

It happens four or five times a week: someone tells me "your pipe reminds me of my grandfather". Then they get a dreamy look on their face, remembering the old man they haven't seen in years. And, like a gentleman, I refrain from asking "did he die alone on the dilapidated porch of a retirement home run by nurse Ratchett, because he was too far away to visit more than twice a year, and no one thought to check on the old geezer consigned to the howling winds outside with his pipe?" Because, of course, smoking is so not done, and we must protect those old addicts from themselves by driving them out into the rainstorm.
So that they are depressed and gloomy, and might stop; smoking is bad.

Naturally I would much rather remind them of the trim young tweedy student at Harvard who tutored them in Latin and algebra. Which not only paid for his sherry, but also expanded his dating pool enormously (cherry-pick the brightest ones to take out to dinner), and gave him a more vibrant social life.
Then they mention some horrible fruity pipe muck from the dark ages (Maddlethorpe's Cherry Custard Sunrise, "what all fine gentlemen smoke", 1950's), and the mood is ruined.

[Words of advice: some tobaccos recall J.R.R. Tolkien and Bertrand Russell (Virginia flakes, Like Capstan). Others call up images of Clark Gable and William Faulkner (English/Balkans such as MM Dunhill 965 and Marcovitch). And there's also what Old Dingus huffed, wearing bib overalls on his tractor out doing the back forty, and everybody wishes that the sour old bastard would die soon so that they can sell the property (those are usually crap, like drugstore Burley blends, Rum & Maple, and Sugar Barrel). Soggy aromatics are grandpa with no tastebuds left, and the rancid perverts with Hawaiian shirts and gold chains, okay?]

If I remind you of that college man, I shall buy you tea and puff at you.

Back when I was a teenager thoroughly enjoying bold Latakia blends, crusty old farts would put their arm avuncularly over my shoulder in cafés, bars and tea shops, and inform me in a voice that promised great wisdom and deep secrets "ya know, sonny, if you smoked someting sweet like Mango Melba Stormcloud, you might actually have friends!" Gee thanks, wise older man, I never knew that. Mango Melba Stormcloud, made by Theodorus Niemeyer B.V. in Groningen, Netherlands. Where friends come from. I didn't enjoy fruity crap.
Or seek to win friends and influence people by smoking a pipe.


This morning I woke up shortly after six. Habit. While outside with my tobacco a woman glowered at me as she passed. The two phrases that are the most useless and irritating, especially when speaking to women, are "calm down" and "(you should) smile!"


She would probably have more friends if she smoked.
Might I suggest something like Capstan?
A fine medium flake.



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