THE MIND BUBBLES

After a day's work I am not the most sociable of men. What I want upon getting home is a hot beverage (caffeinated), maybe something to eat, and the freedom to read. I do not need overmuch conversation, or an alcoholic beverage. Understandably then, I view the drinkers down the street enjoying outdoor seating at a local bar with considerable jaundice.
Gentlepersons, you are all gigantic blistering idiots.
And some of you will catch Covid.

Yes, I know. It's Saturday night, and some of you wish to engage in procreative behaviours. Can't you do that quietly and alone?

My work necessitates conversation. It is frequently more content rich, more interesting, and quite devoid of procreative intent. Participants leave satisfied. No alcohol changed hands.


Sometimes smoking equipment and tobacco is involved.

The pipe shown here is one that I've had for many years. It shows up in the few photos of me in what could be assumed to be a social environment, though I am not visibly socializing. There is, in fact, scant photographic evidence that I have ever socialized. People with Aspergers syndrome do not feel the need to record their social encounters.
We were there. Isn't that enough?


The last times that I went to a local bar I would leave my drink on the counter, and go outside to smoke. A pipe can take up to an hour, depending on bowl size, and even smaller briars can easily occupy a half hour span. Clearly I was not there to engage in karaoke singing, procreative chit chat, or discussions of sports and politics with random strangers.


There was a time at the Edinburgh Castle on Geary street that I had gone into the front room to enjoy a smoke. A young lady came in after me, sat down on the couch, and started making suggestive small talk. Seeing as I was in a relationship at the time, and have never engaged in spur of the moment procreative acts, and certainly not with strangers, I brushed off her every approach. Finally she flopped out a breast and started massaging her nipple.
She asked "are you threatened by my femininity?"

No ma'am. Appalled.

I remember the event, but I cannot recall what her face or her breast looked like. Unfortunately I cannot remember the pipe or the tobacco either. It must have been an English blend -- what in England they call Oriental or Balkan -- because that was when you could still smoke in a bar in San Francisco. Which was before I started smoking mostly Virginias and Virginia and Perique mixtures. Seeing as the Edinburgh Castle at that time was full-tilt Scottish themed, the beverage will have been a single malt. Loch DenIb Qatlh. Or something.

I'm certain that I enjoyed the drink.


When having a glass of Loch DenIb Qatlh, do not add ice. Though a teaspoon of branch water is okay, as it redistributes the lighter elements (oils?) that cause an irridescence on the surface of the liquor. You don't want them to flee too soon.


Scotch whisky and Oriental blends both smell of terpeneols, which the smoke curing imparts to the product. Hence a similarity of fragrance, an overlap of the Venn diagram if you will. Which should automatically remind you of Lapsang Souchong tea, a hot caffeinated beverage.

I don't know about other people, but none of this reminds me of breasts.

Breasts are good too.

TOBACCO INDEX


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