bobby jonathan
Senior Member
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- Aug 23, 2021
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I found this, posting on Peccary gloves, saved in my iPod. Does anyone know, where it is posted so, I might read the conclusion?
bobby jonathan
"
I kid you not I have a fantastic story about Peccary gloves. You thought I was going to say: I kid you not I have a fantastic story about kid gloves, didn't you? Well, I do but that's for another day. Many years ago, before I was retired I read about the many virtues of Peccary gloves, on a forum just like this, but on a forum that only discusses gloves and gators The consensus [on the forum] was that Peccary gloves were not only the most elegant sort of gloves but also the gloves which gave one the most control, let's say for example controlling the strings of a puppet, turning the small knobs on a tuner or picking grouse feathers out of a loved one's hair on a cold winter day. If you want to do any of these things with both elegance and dexterity while wearing gloves, Peccary gloves are for you. That day I read about Peccary gloves many years ago before I was retired and while I had slightly less time on my hands (heh heh) than when I was finally retired, before the endless days of cocktail hours and hours spent thinking about the hours I've been retired and hours spent looking on forums and hours posting on forum, back in those days I learned of Peccary gloves, and the more I researched the more I realized I could not live the life I wanted my life to be, until I had a pair. I dreamed of fumbling my days through retirement in a pair, or two, of Peccary gloves knowing that retirement would give me the edge on time to better appreciate the finer things but I wasn't about to wait for retirement to enjoy such luxuries.
Well, I was in bumblesauce Arkansas at the time, head of operations at a subsidiary of Unilever that manufactured highly polished pins, highly polished clear metal pins to be exact. It was a boring job and while I mostly sat at my desk cruising (and cursing) the internet it managed to give me a sense of purpose, somehow sitting at a desk in a building you do not own or live in makes you feel like you are doing something even when you are not. If you do not believe me and are not retired yet try this experiment: one day wake up a few hours before work and look at things on the internet, this forum perhaps, then when at work do the very same thing. You'll be surprised to find that even if you are reading the very same things at work that you read a few hours before at home that you will find a lesser sense of wasting one's time. I do not know what the precise term for this is but I do recall reading a PhD thesis on it while at my desk at that subsidiary of Unilever.
Are you imagining me here sitting, tapping out this reply, in a pair of Peccary gloves? No silly grouse it's not like that, Peccary gloves or my interest in Peccary gloves wasn't some obsession or fetish, it was preoccupation, like other's I've had, preoccupations you've probably had too. Preoccupations like this general start with simple curiosity, "oh Peccary gloves, what are they" then turn into "oh, I really want a pair of Peccary gloves, I must find a pair!" and in the days or months after it turns into "I must tell Sarah in accounting about how fantastic Peccary gloves are". Years later, if the preoccupation has actual attributes worthy of some sort of adoration, it tends to stick around although your appreciation might wane, or become muted. Your Peccary gloves, while remaining in your life, will become a part of your life, unseen to you at times. Like that stuffed grouse which 10 years earlier you were so proud of bagging and fresh out of your taxidermy correspondence course, rather tickled for a while about how alive it still looks, how the ruffage becomes almost animated in a certain light, how its neck is cocked at just the right angle so that the grouse's eyes meet yours when you cock the living room door open by two inches to say goodnight, until a time comes when you find yourself no longer giving it your peace before bed. It's not that you don't still admire it on the mantle while sitting in your club chair in your living room with a spot of tea reading Spinoza, or that you don't still lay in bed on occasion reliving the day you stalked that grouse through the highlands, or the hours you spent plucking it's feathers (in Peccary gloves no doubt), but these preoccupations at some point tend to recede into the foreground. It can make one wonder in whose lives of those close to us do we exist now after many years in a similar foregrounded manner.
Anyway, that's enough on the Peccary for now, time for toast and tea. "
bobby jonathan
"
I kid you not I have a fantastic story about Peccary gloves. You thought I was going to say: I kid you not I have a fantastic story about kid gloves, didn't you? Well, I do but that's for another day. Many years ago, before I was retired I read about the many virtues of Peccary gloves, on a forum just like this, but on a forum that only discusses gloves and gators The consensus [on the forum] was that Peccary gloves were not only the most elegant sort of gloves but also the gloves which gave one the most control, let's say for example controlling the strings of a puppet, turning the small knobs on a tuner or picking grouse feathers out of a loved one's hair on a cold winter day. If you want to do any of these things with both elegance and dexterity while wearing gloves, Peccary gloves are for you. That day I read about Peccary gloves many years ago before I was retired and while I had slightly less time on my hands (heh heh) than when I was finally retired, before the endless days of cocktail hours and hours spent thinking about the hours I've been retired and hours spent looking on forums and hours posting on forum, back in those days I learned of Peccary gloves, and the more I researched the more I realized I could not live the life I wanted my life to be, until I had a pair. I dreamed of fumbling my days through retirement in a pair, or two, of Peccary gloves knowing that retirement would give me the edge on time to better appreciate the finer things but I wasn't about to wait for retirement to enjoy such luxuries.
Well, I was in bumblesauce Arkansas at the time, head of operations at a subsidiary of Unilever that manufactured highly polished pins, highly polished clear metal pins to be exact. It was a boring job and while I mostly sat at my desk cruising (and cursing) the internet it managed to give me a sense of purpose, somehow sitting at a desk in a building you do not own or live in makes you feel like you are doing something even when you are not. If you do not believe me and are not retired yet try this experiment: one day wake up a few hours before work and look at things on the internet, this forum perhaps, then when at work do the very same thing. You'll be surprised to find that even if you are reading the very same things at work that you read a few hours before at home that you will find a lesser sense of wasting one's time. I do not know what the precise term for this is but I do recall reading a PhD thesis on it while at my desk at that subsidiary of Unilever.
Are you imagining me here sitting, tapping out this reply, in a pair of Peccary gloves? No silly grouse it's not like that, Peccary gloves or my interest in Peccary gloves wasn't some obsession or fetish, it was preoccupation, like other's I've had, preoccupations you've probably had too. Preoccupations like this general start with simple curiosity, "oh Peccary gloves, what are they" then turn into "oh, I really want a pair of Peccary gloves, I must find a pair!" and in the days or months after it turns into "I must tell Sarah in accounting about how fantastic Peccary gloves are". Years later, if the preoccupation has actual attributes worthy of some sort of adoration, it tends to stick around although your appreciation might wane, or become muted. Your Peccary gloves, while remaining in your life, will become a part of your life, unseen to you at times. Like that stuffed grouse which 10 years earlier you were so proud of bagging and fresh out of your taxidermy correspondence course, rather tickled for a while about how alive it still looks, how the ruffage becomes almost animated in a certain light, how its neck is cocked at just the right angle so that the grouse's eyes meet yours when you cock the living room door open by two inches to say goodnight, until a time comes when you find yourself no longer giving it your peace before bed. It's not that you don't still admire it on the mantle while sitting in your club chair in your living room with a spot of tea reading Spinoza, or that you don't still lay in bed on occasion reliving the day you stalked that grouse through the highlands, or the hours you spent plucking it's feathers (in Peccary gloves no doubt), but these preoccupations at some point tend to recede into the foreground. It can make one wonder in whose lives of those close to us do we exist now after many years in a similar foregrounded manner.
Anyway, that's enough on the Peccary for now, time for toast and tea. "
