Tuesday, August 10, 2021


The local pipe club met again this past weekend, and while I was there, I was not "there" there. Meaning that while I was within distance, I did not actually attend. They were out on the lawn.
I was indoors. So I haven't a clue what they talked about. Grady was there, for the first time in ages, looking spry and zesty with his cane and ready smile, Ioannis, Mike A. and Mike B., Joel, and several others. Calvin came inside briefly. Oh, it must have been great fun.
At safe social distances, because none of us are idiots.

From past experience, I know that Virginia smokers were well represented, Balkans slightly less, and Aromatic tobaccos barely at all. Tastes in Whisky range all across the board, cognac and rum scarcely a whisper, and absolutely NO froo froo liqueurs, thank you very much.
We are, on the whole, a temperate lot.

I think for the next meeting I shall bring some teapots. Let's see if traditional mid-afternoon refreshments are their bag. Seeing as we're not going to allow alcoholic beverages in full view of passing school children or pregnant women saving dolphins. As it might shock them.
Evidence of daemon-tobacco being enjoyed is bad enough.
It's traumatizing, tell you what.

As is usual on days when I work, I had five briars in my bag.
Because of the mask thing, I only smoked three bowls.
Long after I got home I went outside for a walk with something from the tea tray. Accompanied by a hot blonde: Virginia flake by Cornell & Diehl. It had already turned dark, and fog was thick at the top of the hill. Ruckus from the bars on Polk Street was hardly noticeable, and drunks don't make it very far up to relieve themselves in doorways.

This was probably the first meeting where no Dutch speakers were actually present. The solid South African gentleman wasn't in attendance as far as I could tell, M.K. lives in Boston and rarely makes it out here, and I remained indoors. So it must have been light and gay and superficial, and no detailed discussions of complicated subjects. No Shakespeare, Proust, colonial history, religion, food, philosophy, or Asian art. And absolutely no Hello Kitty.

Possibly they talked about dogs.
Existential angst.

I am disappointed that there was no evidence of perversion or nude dancing. That's traditional in Northern California in the middle of summer, dammit, and we're known for being naked hippies with drugs and hot tubs! Free love! Save the whales! Tie dye!

Perhaps next year.


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1 comment:

Anonymous said...

In the heady days of last April, after my second jab was throbbing in my left deltoid, I had seriously entertained the idea of flying out to visit you, Greg Pease and Dr. Miller, my best friends in California. But caution prevailed, and in light of the recent flare-ups of disease and death, curtesy of Trumuptard anti-vaxxers, I am glad I stayed in my bunker.
No pandemic in history has lasted forever. If we can hang on for another year or two, we will see each other again in safety. That is a promise.

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