PERVERSION AND NUDE DANCING!

Another meeting of the local pipe club is coming up. And despite what you may think, or have heard, there will be NO perversion or nude dancing. We are a temperate bunch. Sadly. These get togethers usually involve a bunch of mostly males in the golden early afternoon of their years sitting around making stinky, and discussing books, pandemics, and food.

Outside. On the grass. In the sunshine.
At presumed safe distances.
Chaperoned.

A few of our members are actually in relationships -- possibly five -- the others are free spirits, hippies, or anti-social most of the time. To the best of my knowledge, NONE of us engage in perversion OR nude dancing. Not since college. A long time ago.
That's what Berkeley and Stanford are for.


Other than discussing books, pandemics, culinaria, perversion, and nude dancing, other points of commonality (a series of Venn diagrams with various overlaps) are briar wood (a material), blends of mostly flue-cured leaf versus air or smoke cured from Asia Minor versus ghastly crap flavoured with the same stuff they use at Starbucks for some beverages that are incredibly sweet and nasty versus air-cured mostly "American" as is much loved by a gentleman in Georgia who will not be there (Haunted Bookshop; a blend by Bob Runowksi produced by Cornell and Diehl, and similar products).

I may briefly bring up the blend that should not be smoked by dewy-faced innocents, and thereby stirr up trouble, before then disappearing in a cloud of smoke.

It might surprise you, but I am not averse to starting a riot.

It is the closest people like me come to naughty business.


Seeing as we're smokers. And there's a pandemic goin on. And the grass tends to be wet. Cold too. What with being bare of comfy blankets, exposed to the arctic wind (especially in the last three months of the year), and on the whole an indiscreet place for such things.

Sadly, there will be no tea. Or cookies.

Which is why on my days off I head over to C'town for sustenance, HK milk tea, and maybe snackies, before dawdling a while puffing a pipe. Waverly is a good place to smoke, as well as Spofford and Ross. Commercial Street, sometimes, when the bowl of tobacco is nearly at an end, and I'm preparing to take the bus. The light is particularly nice after lunch, there aren't too many people about, and there are no Berkeley earth-mothers who will bellyache that I'm destroying their lungs and killing butterflies or puppies.


Barring any chance of perversion, nude dancing, or naughty business, most pipe smokers gravitate towards tea, cookies, golden light, and the absence of disapproving Berkeleyites.

TOBACCO INDEX


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PROBABLY PERFECT FOR HELLO KITTY

Some things are too much fun and shouldn't be allowed. At least until you're an adult and can act like it. I smoked two bowls of the big-mac-daddy-voodoo-queen-toxic-pus-blister tobacco today. See, if I have too much nicotine I turn into an unpleasant person for several hours ..... HH Rustica, by MacBarens. Made with nicotiana rustica ("mahorka").
It's quite potent, and high in nicotine.
But smooth and tasty.


I had thought to cajole the boss into smoking some, knowing full well that doing so risked ruining the day at the beach he planned with his wife later. Because I wanted him to at least experience it, and I'm an evil man. But his spouse came by to pick him up way too early.

Tomorrow, I guess. I've rubbed out enough to share. It's educational. No, I didn't bite someone's head off. Potent self-control! But gaining knowledge is a good thing.
Always budget for experiments, and take some risks if necessary.

Just in case, I've bought a second tin.

It's not quite as potent as you might think -- there's probably no more than twenty five or thirty percent rustica in it (my guess), but that's still plenty, and would up the strength quite a bit. So smallish bowls, contemplatively. It's like Old Dark Fired on steroids, mixed with something from the same source as the Balrog, an era before this world was created. Which smells nice. Dark.


Hobbits and their fanboys should not smoke this. It's not for them.
Too much for their sensitive little souls.
It's like the ring.

Same goes for people with interesting tribal tattoos which they do not deserve.
Sorry, guys, that just looks like punk style brassiere lace on you.
But hey, it's, like, totally unique.
Yes.



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TOO MUCH OF IT

When little kiddies have too much sugar in their system (thank you, soft drink manufacturers and junk food industry), they run around pretending to be airplanes or invading armies and lay waste to the waiting room. Teenagers on caffeine and trailerparkers on meth are just as bad, and the absolute acme are fratboys on beer and presidents on Adderal. Sensible people recognize this, and arm themselves suitably with rolled up newspapers or cattleprods.

Bad biscuit, down boy!

Which explains why, mostly, I stay away from donut shops.
All of those human types can be found there.
At three in the morning.

Consequently I have seldom mentioned a popular place around the corner from my dwelling, which has a line in front after bars close. Apparently since the old lady died, they've changed things a bit, and my guess would be more sugar less fruit. My favourite item is no longer available in any case so there's no point anymore.

In that vein, I was also determined to avoid a product that many people have gleefully experimented with, which contains a variety of tobacco known for being up to eight or nine times higher in nicotine than what is commonly available.


HH RUSTICA

Nictoniana rustica was the weed which the native Americans smoked. Small quantities were mixed with other stuff, and the resultant combustible was used ceremonially, much like cocaine in Hollywood. It was too potent to have much of a market in the old world, and if it weren't for John Rolfe smuggling seeds of nicotiana tabacum in from the West Indies, the Virginia colony would have had no cash crop in the early years and the entire colonial landgrab of the North American continent wouldn't have gotten off the ground for several more generations.

On Friday I read a bunch of reviews of Rustica, which ran the gamut from "this is great stuff, it made me sick" through "this is great stuff, I had to puke" all the way to "this is great stuff, my life flashed before my eyes and I had a profound fit of existential despair". And I decided that it wasn't my cup of tea, I would pass. So on Saturday I bought a tin. It's quite nice. Tangy. And unlike previous experiments with high-octane blends, it hasn't turned me into a complete rectum for the rest of the day. It's very enjoyable stuff.


The reviewers: floral, like violets, and leathery, like horse manure


A friend reports that he likes small bowls with a cup of espresso. I would imagine that grappa or cognac would also be suitable. I seldom indulge in espresso, besides which you cannot smoke in Italian cafes in North Beach anymore so that would take some complexity to achieve. I also avoid alcohol because it might interact adversely with my medications (from which you learn that I am probably no longer a teenager or in my twenties), so nix on that too.

Throughout the day I drink pu-erh tea. So the alertness from coffee at dawn is maintained till nightfall. Rustica would be great in early evening. Common sense and other people's excellent recommendations suggest smaller bowls, so loading up the big boys with this will not happen. But I did not experience a nicotine jangle, nor any lightheadedness, and as previously mentioned it did not affect my social behaviour.


There is a fecund earthiness from the interplay of the components (rustica, burley, and Virginia) hot pressed to meld. It has an almost perfumy floral quality. Per Jensen and MacBaren's have produced something profound.


Since I do not buy the local newspapers, it will have to be a cattle prod.

TOBACCO INDEX


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