BEYOND THE TENERAL PHASE

This blogger is obscenely delighted to discover that the ideal woman that many of his acquaintances among the cigar-huffing crowd pretty much swooned over a year-and-a-half ago has, in the estimation of many of them, turned out to be an ethically deficient gold-digger.

This blogger, being a pipe-smoker who hardly ever even experiments with the dark side that is the stomping ground of yutzes and expense-account yuppies as well as rapacious investment bankers and e-commerce hosebags, always found their opinions suspect.
And knows that a fair number of these folks will vote for Trump.
Because they can identify with his struggles.
And have piss-poor judgment.
Cigar-smokers.


Pipe-smoking inculcates a balanced and equitable worldview, as well as kindness and empathy towards one's fellows; cigar-smoking leads directly to syphilis and moral failings of horrendous magnitude.


Most of the time the young lady avoided me, and I was fine with that.
No, I did not growl when she was around, but it was quite clear that she regarded me as the scholarly old grumpus of the group, precisely like a fondly remembered grammar school teacher or village curate with a passion for cultivating prize rosebushes instead of his flock, rather than a sufficiently well-to-do vulgarian exemplar worth cozying up to, who might advance her career or enable her exploitation of prime status-resources.
Being neither recognizable prey nor obstacle, we got along fine.
It was only in the presence of others that we met.
Superficially, socially, and briefly.


Perhaps acting with reserve may make one seem old.
I am not antique, but probably saner.
That staggers me.


I shan't identify the woman in question, nor give sufficient details that would allow anyone to recognize her. In life everyone has their own choices to make, and their paths may go in strange directions.
That is their business.

That also holds for those cigar-huffing gentlemen.
There will be no names or "indescriptives".
You know what to expect.


I am somewhat more likely to end up surrounded with prize rosebushes.



AFTER THOUGHT

In a short while I will head off to lunch in Chinatown. The places where I eat are not high-fallutin', nor likely to impress the cigar smokers in any way.
I get the overwhelming impression most of them sneer at such lowly dives, and only grasp that what they eat tastes good if the ambiance and price accord with their idea of value. Their value. Strictly Chinatown ain't it.

I have never broken bread with many of the cigar crowd.

Chinatown: Real food, served by real people.
Prepared by and for real people.

It's about values.




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