On The Topic of the Virtues of Smoking a Pipe

Today was, essentially, a wash. One of my best friends in the world was having his bachelor party, and I would have loved to go... except I had to work. Further, I couldn't take the day off because I need to take next Saturday off to attend his wedding. The plan then was that they would take off for the day to Glenwood to swim, as that seems to be the sort of thing one plans their day around when attending a hot springs. Later that evening when they got back, we would catch up at Leela's or Paris downtown, share a couple of pints and maybe a pipe or two.

Unfortunately, and I can't blame this on any of them (though there's an irrational part of me that would like to), they encountered automotive problems, and what should have been a three hour drive turned into a 4 and a half hour drive, and add on blizzard conditions. So, that's a no go for pints and pipes: they had to cancel. Bummer. So, I got all bummed out and depressed and trekked home.

It's 10 now, and I'm trying to think of some way to salvage my Saturday night, but nothing's coming to mind. Earlier in the day, my pal Arthur had made an offer to hang out, but I had to turn that down because I did not foresee my previous plans being canceled.

So, you know what I did? I sat outside, in the rain, and had a pipe, and what a glorious pipe it was.

I have what's called a "sport pipe." It's mostly just an apprentice made pipe with a shallow bowl that's supposed to last no longer than 15 minutes, but through some forces that are largely mysterious to me, this pipe lasted for 30. Truly a Hanukkah miracle, though not on par with a day's oil lasting eight.

At any rate, I sat outside, listening to the rain, the trains, puffing, and thinking. I thought about my friend David's birthday I missed and made the determination to buy for him his very first pipe and tobacco. He deserves it.

I thought about the Daily Dime and how I'd missed two days this week and really didn't want to miss a third, but didn't know what I was going to write about.

I thought about the day and what a bummer it was overall.

I thought about pipes, and what a curious tradition it is, but what a powerful one. I don't smoke mine too often, perhaps once a week, and that's usually in the company of others. I might smoke it by myself once every 5 or 6 weeks, and it's usually only at times, like tonight, where I feel an irrational depression, and I really want to pull out of it. And it's a panacea. It works, and I'm not sure which part of this causes the even feeling or the mellowing. I don't know if it's perhaps the scent, or the series of long breaths (which are smoke free, every one of them) i must take to stoke the pipe and keep it stoked, the fact that I'm forced to stop and be slow, to take time and think, or if it's something beyond that. Not to attribute mystical attributes to an object, but it's been my experience that it has a power to mold and steer conversation in a way that other smokes do not.

At any rate, I smoked my magic pipe (insert pot joke here. HA HA HA! YOU SO FUNNY!), and felt contented and happy. I came inside, sat down, and whipped out a true to real life story.

Let us seal these meetings
With the raising of a pint,
And the stoking of a pipe.

Where the Rubber Meets the Road

I went to a little place I like to call Paris on the Platte here in Denver. Let me first say that the images I had of it are incredibly wrong. I imagined a place that was much larger, and looked less like it might be a surrogate crack house. Having said that, I actually liked the place... minus the fact that the words “friendly” and “service” are about as central to their vocabulary as “wit” and “charm” are to mine, which is to say that are entirely alien concepts. I still liked it. It's a sort of beatnik style coffee shop/restaurant/bar that is also one of the few bastions of indoor smoking, without getting federally arrested and thrown into debtor's prison, which is why it's so popular. Being a smoking bar, we took advantage of that.

By we, I mean Mike Davenport, on again off again best friend, and major catalyst for all of my theology for the last year, his fiance Kelly, who is an english major as I am, and a writer as well. Next to her was her friend Micah, who is also an english major and a writer. She was new to me. She seemed smart and friendly, though quiet, and had a near perfect smile. The bit I did get to talk with her I enjoyed. Next to her was Ryan, whom I'd met before. Ryan's really cool in that borderline nerd kind of way. He's going for aeronautics, so talking sci fi with him is always enjoyable. I haven't talked with him much, but he seems like the kind of guy I could truly get along with if we could just sit down and talk. Then his wife Lynnette. I mostly know nothing about her and, due to the cramped table geography, was entirely unable to talk to her. Then was Zack, Mike's little brother. Zack's a hoot. That guy rocks and I love seeing him. He's funny, laughs a lot, but then can get down with a real serious heady conversation. Then his wife Hannah. She's really pretty, and very nice. I haven't ever talked with her to great length, though I would like to some day. Next to her (and me, thus forming a circle) was Cody. Cody was cool. Had a big fat bowled pipe. We talked a lot of theology and general life. I enjoyed his company and wish that I get to enjoy it again in the future.

So, the company was good, the malt was good, and the pipes were good. We all (us guys) lit up our pipes, sharing tobaccos and what have you, talking about life, God, whatever topic should arise. It was a very good night, and while I don't have any kind of earth shattering revelation to bring out of this, I was proud of myself. I made an effort to talk to everyone there, that was feasible to talk with, and make good conversation. Slowly, I make progress with my resolution.