ABOUT THAT COPPER ...

One of the very first bad reviews is the missive sent to to Ea-nāṣir, which Nanni wrote in 1750 BC. It stuck in my mind while still in a dream-state this morning. You know, everything has been going downhill ever since. A conversation yesterday about Three Nuns pipe tobacco was kind of like that. It segued into the inevitableness of blend-shift as the master blender ages. His or her nose-memories of what each constituent should be change over time no matter how acute his olfactories. The result is that what should be a standard golden flue-cured blending tobacco of a particular grassy fragrance at some point becomes somewhat more skunk-like, and crusty old farts take to the internet to complain that the company has intercoursed with the recipe, it's not the same, they never should have let in all those foreigners, things aren't made the way they should be anymore, damned Irish.
Why, back in his day ..... !


So anyhow, my flesh husk hurt in three places this morning. I never-the-less stumbled out with a pipe after coffee, because one must do what one must do, and I shan't let the slow breakdown of the machinery dictate my life.

And I can't enjoy tobacco while my apartment mate is still here. She headed off to work at around eight-thirty, and while I firmly snecked her door and made sure the windows were open so that after a few hours of airing later in the day she won't notice that I've been breaking our domestic rules left right and center, I firmly resisted temptation.
And did not light up immediately. In fact, I haven't had a pipe inside yet.

I'm waiting till the dirty dishes in the sink have been done.

Unfortunately, doing them is up to me.

Day off. Dirty dishes. Personal ablutions. Laundry. Late lunch and a hot beverage in a place not frequented by many dishonest Mesopotamian copper merchants or foreigners because they expected general Tzo's, sweet'n sour pork, and chicken chowmein EXACTLY like it's done in Podunk, Savannah, or Schinkenfressersburg (Upper Silesia). Which it isn't. Because neither the cooks nor the waitstaff have ever been there, and don't know how those civilized people do it. And their customers are overwhelmingly from Hong Kong or Canton, and never eat that, don't want it, and had a yen for something with pressed pickled mustard cabbage tuber and perhaps dried oysters.

Followed by a pipe while lurking in side streets avoiding Mesopotamians and their friends, because I work in the suburbs and have dealt with too many of them for the last few days and need to unwind. And I've eaten their ghastly what passes for food.

It will not be Three Nuns. Which is not the same as it used to be.
Personally, I'm blaming humans and the young people.
As well as those Irish, for good measure.
You know, back in my day ...
Mesopotamians!



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