Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Still sick. Still angling for full recovery. When I breathe there is a low distant rumble in my chest that sounds like the recyclables truck just turned on to my street. Is the Mucinex helping? Maybe a little. But reading the label on that stuff I get the feeling that it's really made for a hacking smoker's cough. It's priced in their league, too, at $15 a bottle. Smokers will pay anything. It's a wonder cigarettes don't cost a hundred dollars a pack.

My brother is a smoker. He's quit a thousand times, of course. Recently, he moved to Las Vegas -the smokers' paradise- so there's no hope for him now, though he tells me he's not allowed to smoke at his new job, interestingly. I used to smoke years ago with an old girlfriend of mine, and to be honest I kinda liked it. I was lucky though, and found the residual elements of the stuff more disgusting than addictive. What is it about smoking that a day-old ashtray can be so nasty, but the clean, savory smoke wafting into your lungs with every other breath can be so satisfying and relaxing? Plus, it's a gift for the talentless. You look cool smoking, and you don't have to think up anything clever or buy stylish fashion. How unfortunate for your health. How unfortunate for everyone else. But you look cool!

I last purchased a pack of Dunhill Milds a few years ago and I believe I still have it around here somewhere. Are they still any good? Can anyone tell me if cigarettes ever go bad? Seriously, I've always wondered this. (Answer: No. They're always already bad.) I'm glad I got it out of my system. Tried smoking a pipe for a while, and though I enjoyed the scent I could never keep the damn thing lit. Plus my mouth tasted like Orange County the next morning (and I mean the Santa Ana portion of Orange County, not the Irvine portion -but ahh! the days you wake up and you have that fresh Irvine taste in your mouth!)

I'm not one of these people who thinks all cigarettes should be banned. I figure I can just get up and move if it bugs me. On the other hand, there's no smoking in my house without expressed permission. My brother knows this and it's on him when I have to explain the thoughtless decision he's made to the Little Ditchman. The poor kid! I just know the world will teach her that the cancer sticks kill mercilessly and then I have to explain why her uncle does this to himself. Oh well. I'll probably have a heart attack at some marathon somewhere and it will be Uncle Dain doing the explaining (over a long drag on a Marlboro Light 100, out back, next to a dumpster.) So it goes.

As for cigars, well, if I want the flavor of the bottom of a compost bin, I'll go lick the bottom of my compost bin. (But you look so manly doing it!)