FRUITY DEPRAVITIES

Ever since I finally started seeking medical attention, which directly resulted in a coronary stent (冠狀動脈支架 'kun jong tung mak ji gaa') over three years ago, I've been heading down to the clinic at regular intervals, after which I usually get something which would absolutely horrify medical professionals (doctor, nutritionist, nurses and techinicians) to eat in Chinatown.

Today it was Japanese curry porkchop over rice (日式咖喱豬扒飯 'yat sik gaa lei chyu baa faan').

Breaded and fried pork chops with a rich curry sauce.
Delicious with spoonfuls of chili paste.

Per my blood tests, I am no longer borderline diabetic. Not entirely out of the danger zone yet on that score, but the numbers are much better. And kidney function is healthy.
So I am full of piss and vinegar, as they say.

It's all that good clean living. Coffee, tea, hot sauce, slightly more veggies and slightly less ice cream, and avoiding sweetened pipe tobaccos. That's the ticket; no fruity pipe tobaccos!

Which is easy, because Captain Black Grape and Captain Black Watermelon never appealed to me anyhow, and cannot be sold in San Francisco or much of Marin County because they are, allegedly, targetted at children; an important pipe tobacco demographic.
You've passed the little imps and thugs huffing fruitloop cavendish in their Danish freehands, haven't you? Quite the public nuisance. If they start smoking a pipe before their teens, they inevitably stop going to church by the time they're twenty.
Or invading neigboring Ukraines.


Basically, the old crotchet is doing well.


As you would expect, I had two briars with me when I arrived at the appointment -- roughly forty minutes early -- but I exercised exemplary self control by not lighting up till after lunch.

Deciding which pipes had been relatively easy. Comoy made pipes for some reason always seem appropriate to the Chinatown environment. Which may have something to do with my dad and the California he knew before we went overseas.

My dad is also the reason I eschew fruity aromatics. "Son, good pipe tobacco does NOT smell like a Parisian bath house". No, I never asked him how he knew what a dubious establishment catering to skeevy types smelled like. Probably grape soda and watermelon candy. In direct consequence of his wise remonstrance, I smoke clean stuff that doesn't reek of hippie oils.

In another few hours I'll be heading out to have a last pipe of the evening in the Chinatown-Northbeach area. There may be zaniness and hi-jinx. Which I will cheerfully witness, but will in no way be responsible for. Whatever happens my legal liability will be zero.

There will be no evidence that I even encouraged it.

I'm a harmless old sort.



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