Sunday, April 12, 2020


Boredom and chemical imbalance affecting the mood can be alleviated by a long walk with a pipe; which I really recommend for all timorous virgins and tobacco abstainers. Not for Vegans, they have other problems. Perhaps a good lamb chop? As you no doubt understand, a bit of exercise is good for the digestion and circulation, and changes the body chemistry.

I would also recommend it for that cat-loving lawyer in the East Bay who is allergic to cat dander, but she's in a motorized wheelchair and probably beyond any help. And she hated smoking in any case, poor dear.
Well, not ALL smoking. Damned pot head.

[She should be happy I still occasionally remember her. Like our president, she's a narcissistic egomaniac psychopath. Everything always has to be about her.]

A full bowl of Doblone D'Oro takes about twelve blocks to enjoy. Made for Savinelli by MacBarens, this is probably the closest you'll ever come to the old Three Nuns. And it is a damned fine tobacco. So I loaded up the Comoy bent, and headed out. My apartment mate was watching the third episode of Bat Masterson for the morning, and truth be told those old-time television series don't really do much for me. Though of Chinese ancestry, her daddy was from Texas, so for her it means good times and sunnier moods.
Which is also why she watches John Wayne movies.

Years ago she introduced me to John Wayne in The Conqueror, in the role of Genghis Khan, which was miscasting of epic proportions, and yielded a wonderful cinematographic experience.

"To reach her arms, Jamuga, I would sell my people into Mongol bondage!"

John Wayne smoked Camel Cigarettes™. Which should recommend them to you. My apartment mate does not smoke, though she can with her keen eye appreciate the aesthetics of many of my pipes, while not wanting the damned things lit up in the house.

Several months ago, after I came out of the hospital, I purchased a pack of Camels to keep myself entertained while convalescing. I would imagine myself a fighter pilot in WWII and clutch at non-existent controls. 'Aaagh, we've been hit! We're going down! I'll never see Devon again!'

All it took was one pack. Lasted nearly a fortnight.

My father, a bomber pilot (Royal Canadian Air Force) during the world war, smoked pipes for most of his life. The stuff he liked was from a tobacconist in Beverly Hills where he started shopping during high school. It was a mixture of Virginias and Burley with a modest amount of condimentals (L&P), which was of course unobtainable overseas. He smoked English pipe tobaccos for three and half years while someone tried to shoot him another back passage from below. But he thoroughly enjoyed England during that period.

Best meal he had there was after an emergency landing at an American air base. They had real beefsteak.

When I was in high school, I fell in love with Balkan Sobranie and many other mixtures quae sunt illius generis. I still like their fragrances when someone else smokes them, but for many years now Virginia-Perique compounds and solid flakes have kept me happy.
And despite living easy walking distance from three places where a splendid piece of steak may be got, or other cut of cow, I'm happier with a little bit of juicy pork or lamb, or a succulent meal from a chachanteng across the hill.
Sometimes the apple wanders a bit from the tree.

That old-timey Western stuff doesn't do much for me.
Got a different mental aesthetic going on.

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