SOCIAL OPTIONS FOR THE QUITE UN-HIP

I am on occasion flabberghasted that there are people who like spending time in my company. No, it isn't that rare that I should notify the papers, but it isn't entirely common either. Middle-aged dudes are not exactly the exemplar summum fastigium of sparklingly cool.
Especially not if they smoke pipes, despise tattoos, and don't do any drugs. People nowadays expect mature men to be knowledgeable in the ways of psychedelia, and assume that we're the quidem maxime inspiratum et simpliciter perfectus of punks from the era of the Sex Pistols.
You know, "old school".
When 'old school' was still excitingly new.

So sorry to bust your bubble. I never liked the Sex Pistols. As far as I was concerned, they were a bunch of vulgarians and poseurs.
Much like The Rolling Stones.

The best music from that age was what they played on the Muppet Show.
Trust me, that charming and perspicacious frog knew his artists.
Clean acts, with only one notorious stoner.
A freak named Floyd Pepper.

I despise drugs.

The only substances a person needs other than regular nutrition and water are caffeine, nicotine, theobromine, and capsaicin.
Coffee and tea, pipe tobacco or cigars, chocolate, and hot sauce.
Plus highly refined sugar.

Or perhaps some honey.

My Teddy Bear said so.

That's how you can judge strangers. Do they like a nice cup of tea, smoke good tobacco, love chocolates, and dump extra hot sauce all over their shredded jalapeño salad?
If the answer is 'yes', they're probably decent folks.

On the other hand, if the response to leading questions is "huh, I wasn't listening, could you repeat moss is a fuel source of profoun, profoun, profoun....., where are my shoes, I lost my damned shoes!", then you may well be dealing with a whacked-out pothead. And such people are a complete waste of time.

My idea of a wild party does not involve drugs. Rather, there should be a large heated urn of tea there, with milk and sugar for the ones that want it, as well as ashtrays and open windows.

And maybe a bowl of fresh jalapeños.

As well as a jar of honey.

No music.


Nor gun nuts, drug addicts, artistic types, vegans, shop-a-holics, rock-and-rollers, punks, drunks, republicans, bankers, life coaches, tattooed lesbians or performers, brass poles, joints, little red pills, world music, tofu, tempeh, sustainable green crap, carrots, players, rappers, gangstas, spiritual people, caucasian buddhists, zen masters, disapproving stares, chihuahuas, yorkies, psychotics, jazz, coke dealers, meth-heads, cultists, mystics, crystal healers, channelers, crusaders, lobbyists, bankers, stock brokers, peta-members, tofu freaks, basketweavers, nudity, tie-dye, porn stars, ten thousand year old reincarnees of any sort, television personalities, heavy metal fans, sports enthusiasts, gamers, mountain climbers, surfers, health-club members, doll collectors, reality show competitors, deviants, city hall insiders, hysterics, neurotics, self-absorbed quasi-intellectuals, beatniks, poets, the glamorous people, wine snobs, aspiring movie stars, fashion models, amateur stage performers, exhibitionists, nicotine patches, electronic cigarettes, needles, small glass smoking devices, asthma inhalers, wheat allergies, flying saucer faithful, millenarians, excessive make-up, missionaries, and occultists.

Okay.

I think that leaves two people.

With my luck the other one is in a different time-zone.



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