BrockLi Soup

One year ago today, it was Saturday, and I was at Piratz Tavern with a bunch of CSHers for Nate Nordfelt’s going-away party. And I had my last cigarette. I bummed it from a woman who was dressed like a pirate.

I’ve smoked tobacco from hookahs three times since then, but haven’t even touched a lit cigarette in a full year.

I was surprised to find at five months that I still had cravings, but here’s the dirty little secret nobody tells you: even after a year, I STILL crave cigarettes once in a while. I’ve mentioned this to some fellow former smokers, and they all said the same thing. It’s hard to rationalize, because no part of me wants to smoke - by now, I think they smell awful, and my chest tightens up when I just think about actually inhaling smoke. Does a nicotine dependence really linger that long? And I only smoked for five or six years - is it harder on people that quit after decades of smoking?

It took me about a dozen tries, but I think I quit for good this time. This little pangs of desire come every month or so, but they’re not that bad. In retrospect, there was absolutely nothing good about smoking, and I wish I hadn’t wasted so much money on cigarettes during those years. And that’s pretty much what every other former smoker told me at the time, and what I’ve told every current smoker I’ve talked to since, but ya know what? We just don’t listen.

So I bought a pack of cigarettes tonight.

And I know, I’m a terrible person, but I’ve been all sorts of pissy lately and I figure it’s best for everyone if I just go back to smoking so I’m deal-with-able. I installed Call of Duty so I could kill Nazis, but that hasn’t been as therapeutic as I hoped.

But anyway, Casey and Matt are in Baltimore for the weekend, so a few of us went up to hang out with them at Matt’s sister’s place, and then we spent the afternoon today wandering around DC and protesting a little bit, and then I took a nap. It was nice.

I’m trying to get the DC chapter of the Sunday Night Film Club going. Last week, a few of us saw Curse of the Golden Flower (which was disappointing), and this week, we were going to see The Good Shepherd, but I’ve heard it’s pretty slow and boring, so I’m going to pick a different one. But I’ll keep y’all posted on SNFC dealing.

I ran out of cigarettes on the drive home from the Meteor Shower on November 19. I had three (give or take) while was at home for Christmas, and another half-dozen this past weekend while BP was here.

The urge never goes away. I really want a smoke, but just less than I want to not walk all the way to 7-11.

I figure that’s an improvement.

Before I start this story, I need to admit that I’ve started smoking again, part time. I’m not a smoker; I’m a tobacco hobbyist.

This evening, I took a cab home from the Metro stop after St. Patrick’s Day celebrations (which I’ll get to in a moment), and, as I have a few nights this past week, I pulled my folding chair outside to enjoy a smoke and a glass of water before going to bed.

As I was sitting there, I noticed that the mulch around the tree right by my front door was wet. “Some bastard peed on my tree!” I thought. And it’s probably best that I noticed: a moment later, I saw some smoke rising from the mulch that hadn’t been pissed on. It looked like someone had tossed their cigarette in there before I got home, so I stepped on it to put it out, but it kept smoking. Even after pouring the rest of my water on it, it was sizzling and smoldering, so I went inside to get more water to make sure it was out.

So there. If I hadn’t been smoking, my tree may well have caught fire. Now, I DID get renter’s insurance not too long ago, but I still don’t want to deal with that. My filthy habit may have saved the day.

At any rate, it was a weird St. Paddy’s Day. I did dinner at the Cap City Brewery, then most of us headed into DuPont to hit Lucky Bar and catch up with my buddy Jeff. Despite the pub decor, it was mostly yuppies and hipsters dancing to hip-hop. I would have preferred a nice pub with actual Irish music, but we had a good time nonetheless.

Every time I hang out in the District, I want to move there more.

Fall is the best season for smoking. Spring is a close second, but who wants to stand outside with all that mud around? Winter would be ideal if it weren’t so cold all the time. And summer…summer’s just bad for smoking. Smoking should be done in a cool, slightly humid environment, where one’s lungs can savor the smoke without the additional burden of heat and dry air. A cool, calm evening in October is the absolute best time for a cigarette, hands down.

I don’t know if I should blame global warming or the fact that I’m further south, but this winter has been fantastically mild, making the past few weeks the absolute toughest of the past five months. Rather than a week’s worth of groceries like I used to, I walk a few blocks to the grocery every couple of days and buy a little bit at a time. As such, I keep finding myself outside in the dark, on these cool, calm evenings, jonesing for a smoke. On top of that, I’ve been reading a lot of David Sedaris and Augusten Burroughs and watching movies like Domino, so that I’m reminded every 20 seconds that my fingers and mouth aren’t being occupied. I’ve quickly gone from “I don’t want to be a smoker” to “fuck it, I’ll do what I want.”

And yet I don’t. I’ve been telling myself for weeks now that I would start again, and find myself a niche as a casual, occasional smoker. I was going to bum one at the Flogging Molly show, but came home reeking and woke up coughing thanks instead to the efforts of others. Every time I pick up groceries I think about buying a pack, and every time I seem to think, “screw it, I’ll get them next time.” It’s almost like thinking, “screw it, I’ll start the diet tomorrow,” but with the opposite effect on my health.

I can’t really decide how I feel about it anymore. I’ve known people that got really upset about it, especially when I (or another friend) would agree to quit, only to renege later in the week. I never really saw what all the fuss was about, until I decided I wanted to quit and started getting all high and mighty on my smoker friends (sorry about that, guys).

Sure, it’s stupid. Yes, it will probably shorten one’s life, but so does prolonged exposure to sunlight. There are thousands of fatal car accidents every year, but we think nothing of driving to work or the store. Maybe there are bigger things to be worrying about.

I’ve always liked to say “Life is short - make the most of it while you can.” Does that trump “Life is short - quit making it shorter”?

I could have sworn that I wrote about this a month ago, but my year-end roundup is the only reference I can find. I have yet to touch a cigarette since quitting in early October. Things went surprisingly well for the first few weeks. I was expecting to crack during one of the drives between Virginia and New York - driving is always the toughest - but I’ve made it three and a half months. I certainly didn’t think I could make it this far, and I don’t think any of my detractors did either. I’m pretty sure this is the longest I’ve gone without a smoke since I was 17.

I can’t say that I miss it terribly. I almost never wake up coughing, unless it’s been a particularly cold night (I tend to leave the heat low). I’m sure that I’ve saved a fair bit of money, though I don’t feel like calculating the specifics now.

Even so, I find myself pining for a smoke now more than ever. It gave me something to do. When I was nervous, I’d smoke. It was a life saver in crowded bars where I didn’t know many people. It gave me a chance to organize my thoughts when I was stumped with a problem. It provided some measure of social outlet; non-smokers don’t believe me when I tell them how many people I met because of it.

And finally, I’ve been watching a lot of movies lately. Every time a character takes a drag, I wish I could do the same. I remember watching The Way of The Gun at Shaun J’s about a year and a half ago. Every time the characters pulled out a smoke, we’d pause the movie and climb out the window onto the fire escape to enjoy one ourselves. Another time, in Dan and Rhubarb’s room, Boondock Saint’s took us about three hours to finish because of all the smoke breaks (granted, we were drinking too, so there were a lot of piss breaks).

I keep wondering if it’s safe to have the occasional smoke yet. I know, at the back of my mind, that the first one will be the end of me, but I try to convince myself that I can have one now and then without getting started again.

I’ve done well so far. I have no intention of buying a pack, but I really didn’t think it would get harder along the way.

The first annual Brocktoberfest went off without a hitch on Saturday, and it was a roaring success by (almost) all accounts. I was really expecting Campus Safety to show up, since they’ve been cracking down lately, but we never saw them. We had someone at the door all night and marked hands, so we kept out the riff-raff and did our best to keep it all legal.

This was my last one, though. I decided last week that I would host this one with BP, and that would be it. I’ve thrown about a half-dozen great parties, and I’ve enjoyed every one, but now I’d rather just chip in my $5 for beer and let someone else do the work. I don’t think most people realize how much goes into these things - I spend more time cleaning, shopping, and cleaning again than I do at the party. It’s fun, but I’m just not sure it’s still worth the time, effort, and money I pour into it. I’ll let someone else deal with it and quit while I’m ahead.

Also, I figured that it would be a good test to see how I’m REALLY doing with the quitting. If there’s anywhere I want to smoke, it’s at a party after a couple drinks, especially if there are other smokers around. But it was never an issue - I stepped outside with the smokers a couple times, and had no desire to bum one. Hell, BP’s cigarette was bothering me in the car when we went shopping. I DID have a pinch of chew at the end of the night - yes, I know it’s disgusting, but a little bit now and then has helped me wean off the nicotine, and it doesn’t keep me from breathing. It’s been a full three weeks since I’ve touched a cigarette, and I’m kind of surprised with how well it’s been going.

I haven’t had a smoke since Friday night. Proud of me? I sure am.

Having quit dozens of times before, I know that I’m usually fine for a few days before I get some serious cravings. It’s been six days, and I’m doing fine; the thought of smoking kind of makes my throat hurt.

For years now, I’ve been saying I should quit, but it’s always been one of those things you say but you know you’re not going to do. I enjoyed smoking. I didn’t WANT to quit, I just knew I should.

I don’t know what, but something in the past few weeks has made me realize that I really don’t want it to be a part of who I am. When I do have kids, I don’t want them to come home from school and tell me that they learned I’m going to die because I smoke. I don’t want to look 60 when I’m 40 because I can’t breathe and reek of smoke. I’ve seen the immediate effects plenty of times; every six months or so, I have to cut way back for a week because I start coughing and can’t breathe for a while. Every time, I say I’m just going to quit while I’m ahead, but I always pick it up again. I came the closest this spring, when a nasty cold made me quit for about three weeks. I was doing real well, but then started again for no good reason.

Previously, I’ve set definite quit points for myself, like the end of a pack or midnight on a Saturday. This time, I didn’t even really want the last pack I went through. We were drinking on Saturday night (I always smoke more when I drink), and when I asked BP if I could bum one, he just handed me a pack (since he gets them real cheap at Duty Free, he’s pretty generous with them). I took one out, and handed it back - I had no desire to finish another pack.

It occurred to me several months ago that I know very few people in their late 20s or 30s that smokes. It seems that the smokers I know are either college kids who started in their teens to try it out or be rebellious, or they’re older folks that have just been doing it forever. I knew I would find myself among the latter before long, so I wanted to quit after finishing college.

I’d like to think I mean it for real this time, but I’ve meant it for real a dozen times before, and it’s only been six days. This time, though, my mind set is different - in the past, it was just because I “knew I should” and I figured it would shut everyone up. This time, I actually want to stop.

Why did a second guy ever start smoking?

“Here, put this in your mouth. Set it on fire and suck on it.”

It’s obviously a stupid thing to do. When there’s a structure fire, people are hospitalized for smoke inhalation. If there’s ever a fire, I should be able to save everyone in the building before my nic fits subside.

Every time I smoke, I realize how ridiculous it is. Inhale smoke - by it’s very nature, it’s a bad idea. And yet, we keep doing it. Thanks to the tobacco companies, we have nicotine, and we become addicted. I’m not saying that we’re not to blame, but they’re not helping any.

Every month or so, I say I’m going to quit. Every fall and winter, I promise to quit so I can play hockey. And every game, I curse myself for giving up, because I still can’t breathe.

Will I ever really quit? I hope so, but I seem to be a spineless candy ass.

I think I’d like to study the sociology of smoking. Really, it’s a disgusting habit, but thousands of people do it. As I’ve told many would-be smokers, you’ll never find a smoker that tells you to start, unless they work for Big Tobacco. I don’t know why anyone has a second cigarette, myself included.

I had my first smoke when I was 12. I remember it because it was the day after my brother’s birthday - April 11th, when he was 11. My best friend P’s older brother D had some cigarettes, and we all went out into the woods to try them - “we” being my brother, my best friend P, his older brother D, and myself. I remember trying to hold the smoke in without coughing, because that’s how D told us to do it. I had to teach him how to light it - he didn’t know you had to inhale as you were doing it, but I had picked that much up from my Dad.

It was a pretty miserable afternoon. There’s nothing pleasant about your first smoke, especially at 12. We thought we were being cool and rebellious, but really, it was just stupid.

Until I was probably 15, my brother and I would occasionally steal cigarettes from my dad to smoke in the woods. At some point, I came across this water proof tube that was intended for pool use, but fit five or six smokes just perfectly. A year or two prior, we had hurled a molotov cocktail into a tree, which left a nice crater to hide them in. My brother and I would wander off into the woods to smoke a couple. I remember saying “You’re smoking ANOTHER ONE?!” only to find out it was his third - he bum-lit another one when I wasn’t looking; this is why I’ve always been confounded by people who couldn’t bum-light a cigarette, because I learned how to do it in the woods at 13.

I don’t know why we kept sneaking out there to smoke them; they weren’t pleasant, and we just wound up coughing all afternoon. I think we stopped for a year or two in there, because I remember having an incredible craving for a smoke when I was about 16. I certainly wasn’t addicted, and I still don’t have a good reason for those cravings. I asked my buddy J to buy me a pack, since he was a year older than everyone else in my class - the only 18 year old I knew well enough to ask for a favor. B recommended Marb Reds (he’s a real redneck), so I smoked those for a year or so, a pack lasting me a couple weeks. I didn’t know at the time that nobody smoked Marb Reds - sometime during my freshman year of college, someone asked to bum a smoke, and refused one when I offered a “cowboy killer.”

I didn’t smoke a lot through the rest of high school, maybe a pack a week. I didn’t want my parents to find out, particularly since I didn’t turn 18 till I’d been in college for two months. When I worked at Burger King, I’d have the older guys buy them for me from the gas station next door, and hide them in the trunk of my car. I have a lot of memories of driving around in that car, SallyRalph, just for a smoke. Smoking was prohibited on campus in high school, and since I stayed after school till 5 or 6 almost every day, I’d often take off with someone to drive around town and have a smoke.

In college, I found smoking to be a great social habit. I can’t even count the number of people I met because I was outside smoking at the same time they were, or bumming smokes from people, or bumming smokes out. No one believes me when I mention the social aspect as a “pro” of smoking, but it’s real.

No one can deny that smoking is bad for you. I’d like to quit; every time I see some old guy that can’t breathe and smells like shit because he still smokes, I think “This is my last one.” It never takes, though. Part of it is the nicotine addiction, which I’ve nearly broken a few times over the past four years. More than that, though, is the social aspect and the memories attached to it. For example, the other night I had my window open, and outside smelled like Wendy’s house in the fall of my sophomore year. I had to step out for a smoke, I just couldn’t help it. There are too many memories associated with that period of time, too many good conversations shared over a smoke, to just ignore it. Other times, I just need to sit on the bench outside of NRH and reminisce to myself about the many conversations I had right there my freshman and sophomore years. It’s got nostalgic value.

I know I should quit, and no one wants to let me forget that. When people tell me “Those are bad for you,” I reply with “There’s a warning on the label, thanks,” a response that I picked up from M.

I know there’s no good reason to keep smoking. Every time I have to go back to the bench because I’m winded, or wake up coughing, I curse it, but I know it’s not as simple as kicking a nicotine habit.

Really, there’s no good reason to have a second cigarette, ever. The first one is miserable and tastes like burning dirt. After a couple packs, you learn to enjoy them - maybe because you actually enjoy the taste, maybe because you convince yourself that you do because you actually enjoy the nicotine. I never should have finished that first smoke when I was 12, but that’s neither here nor there. For years, I kept saying that I could quit whenever I wanted, and then I actually tried to do it. I’m hoping that it will be easier once I graduate and don’t live with a smoker, but there’s no denying that it may be a part of my life forever.

They say that children of smokers are more likely to start smoking. Anyone who doesn’t believe that hasn’t experienced it first hand.

It’s 1:40 and I’m lying in bed with my eyes open.

Maybe it was the two or three glasses of Coke I’d had a couple hours prior - that whiskey doesn’t counteract it as much as you’d think. Maybe it was the insomnia I’ve been fighting for the past week or so.

Either way, I wasn’t about to fall asleep. It had been one of those nostalgic evenings. I did some problems for chemistry, but I couldn’t focus on it for long. A walk around this side of campus - up to GCCIS and around through UC - had made quick work of what little chew I had left.

I needed a smoke.

I nearly quit last month when I was really sick. The chew was meant to tide me over and wean me off the nicotine habit I’d spent five years building, and it did it’s job until I was well enough to breathe again.

BP was asleep and his car was locked, so I couldn’t bum one from him. Every bike in the building was locked up, so I couldn’t borrow one. Jym had been made responsible for Goffin’s bike and left his keys on the coffee table, but it turned out to be a combination lock. I strapped on my roller blades and headed out for Hess - about a half-hour walk, based on previous experience.

My back is feeling a lot better than it usually does after skating. One fresh Camel Light. One quick shower to rinse away the sweat.

Now I’m ready to sleep.

This mild cold I’ve been fighting for a while now hadn’t really worried me until I realized that it’s going on three weeks now.

The fact that my eye was watery and irritated some yesterday didn’t worry me, because I figured my contact was just acting up.

Neither of these would be cause for alarm, if I hadn’t heard a couple days ago that Natalie had pink eye, and read last night that Lucas has pink eye AND bronchitis.

By the time I went to bed last night, my eye just plain hurt, so I figured it was about time to go into the Student Health Center.

So, surprise surprise, I have pink eye. When I explained that the cold had made it painful to smoke and that I haven’t had a cigarette in over a week, the nurse practitioner become quite excited about the cough. Apparently, nicotine effectively neutralizes cilia in our lungs and windpipe, making a good hard cough the only defense a smoker’s lungs have. Now that I’ve stopped smoking for a while, they’re working to clear out all the shit I’ve put in them, so it’s not unusual for my lungs to feel broken. She listened to my breathing and said it seemed to be OK, unless it keeps going on for more than a week.

On the upside, I’m not smoking and I’ve got antibiotic eye drops. I missed a day of work for it, but I slept almost all day and felt a lot better when I got up. I’m hoping things are going better tomorrow morning, or I may have to bail on the Toronto trip. As it is, I can’t wear contacts so I can barely see, my eyes are constantly tearing up, and I keep coughing up nastiness.

I like to think that this week has been a preview of coming attractions (so to speak). We’ve grilled dinner three of the past four days, the weather has been beautiful for a week and a half, and I’ve just been enjoying life. Things are really good right now.

This summer, Fonny, BP, and I will all be on co-op, while poor Jym Bob takes classes. I’m expecting to be on the same 12-8 schedule, but The Boss mentioned that he might have me do 9-5 so he can work my shift and sleep in. As much as I hate the idea of working at 9 on summer mornings, BP and Fonny will be on that schedule so it wouldn’t be too bad. A lot of people are going to be around, so I expect it to be as much fun as last year. BP and I are trying to make Sharon fail a class so she can’t graduate and has to stay for the summer. We’re good friends like that.

I’ve got to try quitting again. I’ve been smoking more and more lately, and it’s showing - I’m coughing a lot. It’s not dry, wheezy coughing, and I’ve been breathing better than ever before, which leads me to believe my lungs are clearing things out, which leads me to believe that now would be a good time to quit. I blame BP - I can’t quit with him around.

“Will, the pneumonia patient - I got him to quit smoking.” “Forever? No ‘last one’? ‘Cause the last ones are better than sex. Trust me, I’ve had about a thousand of them.”

I don’t know why I ever smoked a second cigarette; hell, I don’t know why anyone does. Your first smoke tastes like burning dirt, it makes you smell bad, and you cough violently through the entire experience. So why does anyone ever try a second one?

Part of the reason I started was (ironically) the smell. I loved the smell of my dad’s cheap cigarettes on a cold winter morning. I always liked the smell of his pipe when he smoked it, but cigarettes only smelled good on cold mornings. By the time he quit smoking, I was 16 and had started in on it myself.

I’ve only recently discovered that smoking is an acquired taste - for me, anyway. I learned early on that beer is an acquired taste (my older cousins have taught me more than I’ll ever realize), and cigars are a taste I never cared to acquire. Similarly, you start to enjoy the taste of cigarettes after a while. But, like all things we enjoy, you start to take it for granted sooner or later. I usually smoke 3 or 4 cigarettes a day, aside from a pack-a-day stint I did for a week last fall (this is obviously not the recommended serving size). Last week sometime, I was out of money and on my way home from work sometime around midnight. As I smoked my last Camel, I realized how wonderful it tasted. Knowing that it was the last of the pack and I didn’t have money for more made it all the better. Unfortunately, I managed to get another pack shortly after. Fortunately, I got to savor that last cigarette again, twenty smokes later.

I think it’s time for another break from smoking. I’m not going to say I’m quitting, because we all know that never works out. For the time being, though, I’m done. I should have stopped months ago, before hockey ended - I could have been twice as good if my bursts of speed weren’t stopped short by the inability to breathe. Now, the months of accumulated smoke since the last time I “quit” are taking their toll, and I find myself again battling the unending sore throat. It’s time for a break, and if I can hold out long enough, maybe I can kick it for good.

And if not, I’ll get to enjoy that last cigarette again some other time.