CELEBRATING THE EPIC SNOW BACK EAST

It may surprise some readers that out here in San Francisco (California) we are NOT suffering from any particular frigid discomforts. Nay, it is warm. Aestival, and balmy. There have even been times in the past few days that I have merrily skipped and swanned around the apartment entirely unclothed, with windows wide open.
Ooh, comfortable!
I feel free!

Please note: I had opened all the windows because I was smoking a pipe -- my apartment mate does NOT like the odour of Turkish and Latakia tobaccos perfuming the living quarters when she returns in the evening, remarkably -- and the nudity was both because I had recently exited the chamber of ablution all moist and glistening, and because I could; it's a celebration of all things non-Eastcoastal to be warm and naked and free, here on the sunny and temperate Westcoast.

The hallway mirror tells me I'm strapping.
I share that datum incidentally.
It's a lagniappe.


Nevertheless, I feel for my compatriots suffering the frigid agony and indigestion that a little snow brings. Out there back east.
Where the stress is mounting.

Chilblains! Y'all got chilblains, what?


SUFFERING SUCCOTASH!

[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L8dr7fgrklM#t=43.]

My piles bleed for you.
It's gotta be, like, totally (!) bad.

All that hot chocolate! The first day or two were probably nice, but by now you are sick and tired of it. And your woolen longjohns are starting to chafe. I know how you feel.


"Six unattended corpses and a man tearfully eating a dog..."


Today I am NOT nude. In a couple of hours I shall head out to work, in Marin, where I shall bask in the sunlight and frolic. You know, I've never been happier for that, but observing the Snowpocalypse that is the fate of folks in other places, I rejoice.


I would be nude. But there might be frowns if that were the case. Even in tropical Marin County, they look askance at an absence of grass skirts. A middle-aged man disporting himself with a pipe and nary a scrap might have parasol beverages thrown at him. Lime juice and coconut water sting, you know.


I'm never nude for longer than a few minutes on weekends either, as my schedule would not permit, even if my apartment mate weren't home on those days. It's very sad.



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OBAMA CAUSES RECORD-BREAKING COLD WAVE!

After a long day in Marin County babysitting cigar-aficionados, it is exceedingly good to be back in San Francisco. Civilization, there's nothing like it. Getting my sanity back right now with a steaming cup of coffee and tea mixed together, with sweetened condensed milk. It's a very Hong Kong affectation, but the double whammy of caffeine suits me. Had enough nicotine during the day to stave off boredom, although when Alice came by to pick up a pipe-lighter (Xikar Resource, life-time warranty), that was as good as a double cappuccino and an Oliva Series V Maduro combined. And a breathe of fresh air.

There are a few more women cigar smokers than pipe smokers. It was a woman who introduced me to Oliva cigars. Thank you, Robin.
Perhaps one day you'll meet Alice.
She's very nice.

Upon returning home, the first thing I do is greet my apartment mate, who is in her room surrounded by furry critters, reading comic books and lamenting that she misses her boy friend with whom she broke up nearly two months ago. For the umpteenth time.

Then I open my e-mail. Which convinces me that Marin ain't half bad. Some people there are not too disconnected from reality.

E-mail ... ... ...


A BIG PILE OF STEAMING REFUSE!

One of my former Facebook friends, whom I thought I was clear of last summer when I removed him because his posts during the fracas between Israel and Hamas suggested either that the U.S. Administration was actively aiding and abetting the overlords of the strip, OR that the only thing that needed doing to solve the Middle-East's problems once and for-all would be nuking Gaza, the West Bank, Cairo, and Tehran, recently sent me a screed that convinces me that he's voting Republican, more than anything else he's ever written.

[There have been numerous opportunities to weed out the nut sacks on Facebook over the past few years; at this point only two or three of them remain. They are mostly quiescent.]

He states that the reason why it is freezing where he is, and warm sunny weather where I am, is because the libtards running the country have been employing pagan rituals to control the weather.

It's beastly cold all over the Republican part of the United States.
Nice weather in commie pinko-ville: San Francisco et environs.

Quod Erat frikkin' Demonstrandum!

Further proof: Obama and his henches were in the Bay Area last week. You need warm weather for photo opportunities. And Obama, being a foreigner, prefers tropical heat. It's called Geo-Engineering, and I should look it up. Plus the freezing zone is overwhelmingly pro-Netanyahu!
Obama is gonna get you, sucka!

Netanyahu is g-d.


I've learned to be very circumspect with my e-mail address.


And, because it's San Francisco, I have a cattle prod and a bright red Speedo. Really. It's standard public transit garb here. The benefits of basking in that warm Obamite glow. Ain't lying.


Any way, our president is messing with divine prerogative. You know, I may have suggested, previously to this "friend", that he should mainline Valium. That was when he quoted Michelle Bachman's assertion that the White House was controlled by the Muslim Brotherhood. A claim which has been abundantly debunked on Snopes, but that site is run by the Illuminati and the Kremlin, so anything they say is a lie.

The barium and aluminum oxide pumped into the atmosphere by a secret base in Alaska is making it snow. Sarah Palin isn't crazy, her mental synapses are all messed up by the CIA's weather conspiracy.
And again, pagan rituals all over the place.
It's the Muslims, man; jihad!
Stop messing with god!


Electro-shock might work. Worst case scenario: lobotomy.


Lo·bot·o·my (lə-bŏt′ə-mē)


He's as batshit crazy as the rightwinger who told me years ago that it was only a matter of two or three months at best before Iran nuked Israel and Obama would send in the United Nations Police (Dutch, and Hong Kong Chinese) to take away our guns and put all true American patriots in concentration camps.
I told him at the time that being a Dutchman, my ability to speak Chinese was NO coincidence. He was tops on my to-do list. Then I gibbered on for a while about the Glock 19, and how it truly is one of the most versatile tools in any man's personal arsenal, why, even the marines preferred it!
He was a former Marine, didn't he know?!?

Beware of chemtrails.

Still, the frigid weather is particularly bad in Tea-Party-Stan. Where people overwhelmingly believe in crazy-ass conspiracy theories, flunk high school, always vote Republican, and distrust climate change.

Except for New York and Chicago. But those are just flukes.


If it really is too cold for you, just put on a warm snuggy burka.
Stylish, sharia-compliant, AND practical!
Win-win.


There's also that "low frequency humming".

Very worrying.

Evil.


AFTER THOUGHT

If anyone reading this ALSO believes in "weather witches", I sincerely invite them to post their comments (or deep feelings) in the appropriate receptacle below (OR, use the letterbox). Feel free to wax verbose, and if you leave your real name and address, so much the better. Let's get this conversation going! Say whatever you want about Obama, Joe Biden, Hilary Clinton, AND the Trilateral Commission.

What part of the country are you in?

How's the weather there?

Trailer parks?



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EAT MY SHORTS!

So, how's that cold weather you're having on the East Coast working out for you? Bit chilly? Snowed in? Wondering what you'll do for dinner in front of the telly while the pizza place can't deliver because of drifts?
All out of chocolate-mint power bars?
Having power issues?
Shivering?

You ran out of rendered bear grease for rubbing on your chilblains and insulating your skin from the fierce biting cold and blinding snow?
Water heater froze solid, developed cracks, and would flood your apartment except that it's a block of ice?

I can just imagine. You are suffering. I sympathize.

Bitter cold and freezing conditions: it's horrid.


Please know I'm swanning around in my boxer shorts right now.
All windows open to the warm California sunshine.

It's my day off. And I'm in California.
I know. Lucky, huh?

They're very uber-cool looking boxers. I wish you could see them. Happy colours, snazzy pattern. No, that isn't a pizza stain, we don't have "real" pizza here. That's strictly a New York thing. We're too laid back.
I accidentally dripped some of my tofu-raspberry snowcone.

Just kidding. Every one knows you don't have tofu-raspberry snowcones for breakfast. Even in California. It's not a well-rounded meal (unlike pizza), and the low fat version tastes blah.


Boxer shorts.
Styling.


I've been reading in a state of déshabillé all morning.
Enjoying the nice spring-like temperatures.
Might go surfing later.

Ah, fresh air, mountain meadows, and neighbors wandering around in mumus and grass skirts. The sweet smell of medical grade marijuana and happy dolphins on the gentle zephyrs wafting in from the bay.
Wholesome gluten-free meals to keep us trim.
As we gambol in the California sun.
Lithe and bronzed.
And warm.

Boxer shorts.

I strike a pose before the hallway mirror. Hot dawg I look svelte!
Of course, there are tummy hairs. And navel lint.
If you were here, you'd know.
I have an 'inny'.

Because of the way the tummy hairs all curve towards the centre -- imagine that it's a chakra trail down my front -- the fibres from the wife-beater and sleep pants all moved toward the 'inny', forming a feathery little pillow. Which I will remove with a toothpick. Because, being in just my boxer shorts, it can be plainly seen. Unlike all you poor people in New York and Philadelphia, who are wearing thermal underwear, legwarmers under your heavy woolen pants, plaid lumberjack shirts, sweaters, multiple mufflers, overcoats, hats, gloves, and heavy lined boots.

Oh, the chafing, the chafing!


Again, that's boxer shorts.

Nice and baggy.

Cotton.





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YES, SANTA, WE HAVE A VIRGINIA HERE...

A friend went back east, to be with 'one' with the snow, ice, and freezing cold weather. He's moving / has moved into an old Victorian, and is now contemplating the howling savages of Boston. At least I think it's Boston. Someplace where tattooed natives chant hymns and commit mayhem.

As you can tell, I have never visited the rest of the country.

He inquires how life is in civilization.

Which is California.


This is what I wrote back:

"Life continues to be engaging and entertaining, so I still haven't called the mothership to return to my home galaxy. The rain was NOT of biblical proportions, as was promised; I am very disappointed, and might actually write an angry letter to an editor. It's just rain. Although there is rather a lot of it at present. No snow or ice. 
Almost shirtsleeve weather."

[CUT]

"Aside from which, they cater primarily to cigar fiends, with the pipe smokers being little more than colourful eccentrics that waft in and out occasionally, or glowering old crocks who reek of vanilla mango raspberry truffle.

I'm still in a Virginia daze."

[END CITE]


Exciting new tobaccos which I have NO intention of ever tring out: peach orchard, vanilla-caramel crème brûlée, French bramble-berry liqueur, coffee toffee, and tropical fruit surprise.

I do not understand why aromatic nightmares are still ninety percent of the business. The only possible explanation is that most pipe-smokers are pretendeurs with no taste whatsoever and relatives who just love the whorehouse reek of old Harry's horrid pipe.

Both pipe and tobacco should be clean; not rancid and fruity.

If you cannot appreciate unflavoured tobacco, there may be something wrong with you. Perhaps it's glandular (seek medical help), perhaps genetic (please don't breed). In any case, take a deep breath, put the soggy sh*t down, and go sniff a pile of rotting fruit out back before the pigs get them.
Wash your underarms; they're keeping you from smelling well.
Something is interfering with your nose.
We think you're possessed.

Please don't revel in your nastiness.


Open sample tins left too long smell like spoiled butter. At least from that particular manufacturer. Either they have cows in the factory, or it's a chemical breakdown. Plus a faint whiff of soggy newspaper.

Aromatics pipe tobaccos are strictly for degenerates.


RECENT TOBACCOS

Some things that I've opened up, now that the rain is here.

Mac Baren's Modern Virginia Loose Cut
Flue-cured, with a small amount of Burley, and a fruity topping. Mostly ribbon.

This is innocuous and mild, an unchallenging smoke. Can't really identify the perfume, but I've been told that it's apricot and pineapple -- so it should remind one of Erinmore -- but instead I think it's a milder hint of Grousemoor or Sherlock Holmes. Easier to smoke than either.
Unprepossessing.

Erinmore Flake
Pressed flue-cured tobacco with a pineapple topping and whisps of licorice. Or something like that; no one is willing to divulge the secret. This is from a twelve-year old tin that I opened a few days ago to see if it was still as fairytale-like as I remembered -- there's a peppery old fart who buys five tins a month -- and whether the Virginias had softened much over time.
They have. Nice, albeit a touch depraved.

Borkum Riff Special Mixture No. 8
Mild air-cured leaf with steampressed flue-cureds, and a noticeable inclusion of substances which are in the vanilla, caramel, nougat, heather honey, and hazelnut category. It's quite pleasant. Available at only a few fine liquor stores, not all of them in nice parts of town.
I'm on my third pouch in two years.


SCHEDULED SOON

Robert McConnell - Glen Piper
Mellow Aromatic Pipe Tobacco
Mature Virginia, sweet Cavendish, Brown Honeydew, Perique.
Ready rubbed out plug. Rich taste, mellow aroma.
With natural fruit flavours.

The tin is several years old. It has been described as mostly Virginias, with a dominant note of prunes and a lingering aftertaste that no one really likes. Although several people of impeccable habits also note that it deserves rather more praise than it often gets. Random descriptives: fermented fruit, herbal, swinish, flowery, steamed pudding, rum and chocolate, swishy, not overwhelming.

It may keep the fleas away.

I imagine that it is somewhat reminiscent of Germain's Plumcake, of which there are several enamelled tins stashed in the Dutch literature section.

I look forward to trying some.

TOBACCO INDEX


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SUNNY MESSAGE FOR PEOPLE IN THE NORTH EAST

Just in case you missed it, here are photos of the snow elsewhere in the country. Apparently some places got nearly a foot of the stuff, many areas were severely effected by transit issues and a scarcity of services.
Here in San Francisco it isn't shirtsleeve weather yet, but close.
I want you to realize that as you shovel white stuff.
Or take a break inside with your computer.
Which keeps you in contact.
With the world.


Yeah, I know. You're suffering. Life is hard, snow is hell, your toes are falling off. And that cup of steaming cocoa turned to ice within a minute, you didn't even get to enjoy it. It's a brown coloured popsicle!
There's a layer of frost on your computer monitor.
You wish modern tech were coal burning.
That would be so nice!


On a daily basis I can sit at the computer in my underwear. The sun comes in through the blinds and warms my skin. Often I wear boxer shorts and an A-shirt in the unheated apartment -- the radiator comes on at night, when the temperature drops a bit -- before putting on some lightweight clean clothes and strolling out onto the street, where the Acacia trees are blooming, and up the hill where new green sprouts bedeck some of the trees. The parrots wheel overhead, making the spring sky gay with their colour, adding a joyous noise to the air above San Francisco.

[Note on underwear: mostly cotton, all of it in excellent condition. Some of it has little happy owls, some of it has semi-formal blue stripes, some of it riotous tropical patterns. None of it is old or decrepit. Even wearing little, a man must look his best. If you can recommend any cheerful patterns for my daytime indoor wear, I would be grateful.]


Our last "storm" was a Pineapple Express. That's when warm air from the equatorial Pacific carries rain to Northern California. Usually it's very wet, but not at all cold. Sometimes it's quite tropical.
You know, a very mild temperature.
Not chilly at all.

A few days ago, I saw a crow invade an area where pigeons roost, then fly off with an egg in it's beak. Wow, procreative behavior from our flying rats so early! A feast for corvids! By the end of the month the little black thugs will be flying off with baby pigeons, and growing fat on the effects of early spring.

We watch the Winter Olympics to see what people in cold weather do.
Since we all moved here, we kind of forgot.
Lookit the thick clothes!


Hee hee hee.




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THOSE MANLY BUTTERFLIES IN THE SALES DEPARTMENT

When I called a customer in Miami about a past-due bill, he asked me what was new in San Francisco, and whether he would see me at the upcoming tradeshow in New York.
I have a good relationship with many of my customers. They understand that collection calls are a normal part of doing business, and many of them are fascinating intelligent people.
We've known each other for years, and get along well.

If you think about it, I get paid to read and yack on the phone all day.


THE FABULOUS TRADE SHOW

But I shall not be going to New York.
No one sends a beancounter cross-country when there are so many bright-eyed bushy-tailed salesmen who just love going to tradeshows in New York.
That's what they were born for.
And, truth be told, they are so much better at going to New York than us financial types, that it's a stroke of marvelous luck that there actually is a tradeshow there.
I don't know what they'd do otherwise.

While the sales dudes will, according to my customer in Miami, be ploughing through all the free champagne and caviar in between lighting up their expensive cherry-flavoured coronas and trading off-colour jokes, those of us left in San Francisco will be slowly gliding through the empty office with our steaming mugs of Celebes coffee or Keemun tea, dreamily humming to ourselves as we enjoy the silence.

It will be so quiet!

All the noisy people will be in New York.

The rest of us must enjoy this luxury while it lasts. Bring our fuzzy blankets, and perhaps a chafing dish to work. Barbecue a wild-animal caught on Market Street in an empty cubicle, leaving streaks of soot and drawings of the hunt in ochre, Sienna, and umber, on the walls.
Right next to the illustration boasting that "Kilroy was here".

How languorous, how peaceful!

Let us swan and flutter!

Should we light a bonfire in the conference room and dance madly?
While the sales dudes are in New York?
Should we take illicit intoxicants and engage in fits of wantonness?
While the sales dudes are in New York?
Should we put on amateur theatricals in which we all get to play the tragic heroine one after the other, men and women alike, wearing ribbons and pastel gossamers that trail behind us for romantic effect?
While the sales dudes are in New York?


Have a jolly time in New York, guys.
Enjoy the champagne and caviar.
And the flavoured stogies.

I hope it snows.


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