Entries Tagged 'Rants' ↓

A recent thread on the TIRC email list about smoking at bars made me reflect on my life as a smoker. It’s something I haven’t really thought about in several years. But looking back, it’s easy to see how quitting has really been beneficial to my health and well being (duh!). I’ll try not to make this post too preachy as I don’t really want to alienate any of my smokin’ readers, because I honestly don’t have anything against smokers, just their smoke.

I gave up smoking at the age of 34 on December 31, 1999. Prior to quitting, I was smoking an average of two to three packs per week and normally I wouldn’t even have my first cigarette until right after lunch. I could never understand people that would light one up immediately after they woke up… blech! That definitely wasn’t for me. So, yeah, I guess one could argue that I wasn’t much of a smoker. So I was smoking roughly six to eight smokes a day. Occasionally I might go through as much as one pack in one day if the day ended at a show or party, but that was rare. If I smoked half a pack in one day, it was a lot. And in ‘99, cigarettes cost right around $3 a pack, maybe a little less. So let’s say I went through two and a half packs per week. Over the course of a year, that’s $390. If I don’t even figure increases in cigarette taxes and inflation, that’s roughly $3,500 I have saved since then (and counting).

That’s a lot of money. That basically covers the price I paid for my ‘65 Barracuda, in fact.

Now, aside from the MONEY, obviously, is the increase in my overall health since then. I no longer cough up “lung cookies” in the shower every morning. My house, clothes, and car don’t stink of cigarettes. And, even though I’m still not getting the exercise I should, I still feel better overall. Plus, I have Mitral Valve Prolapse. Lots of things aren’t good when you have this condition, such as a lot of caffeine, excess alcohol, lack of sleep/excercise and, naturally, smoking.

How did I go about quitting? It was actually easier than I thought it’d be… although I had tried to quit once before, unsuccessfully. Or, rather, I had quit for almost a year, right after the 4th of July, 1995. We were celebrating Independence Day at a friend’s place out in the country and I suddenly decided right then and there that I was done. I quit. And I went completely without cigarettes until June of ‘96, when, out on a camping trip with friends, I made the mistake of lighting up a Cuban cigar a friend’s brother had brought along to share with our group. After I smoked that cigar, I was right back to craving the nicotine (it’s crazy just how easily something as innocent as that can trigger that old craving again), so I followed it up with first “just one” cigarette, which led to two, and so on. That’s how quickly and easily I fell off the wagon. And it took me another three and a half years to get up the courage to try to quit again.

But by the fall of ‘99, I was seriously ready to quit. I was tired of it. Tired of the smell, the ill feelings, the hacking, and the cost. I had always promised myself that I would quit before I turned 35, and that was right around the corner. Then there was the promise of the new millennium. The end of the twentieth century and the beginning of the twenty-first (never mind the fact that that technically didn’t happen until 2001… YOU know what I mean). So I made up my mind that I would quit by the end of the year, before “two thousand zero zero party over oops out of time.” But to prepare myself for it, I didn’t smoke more, or even keep smoking the same amount. Sometime in October, I started cutting back, slowly but surely so that by the time mid-December rolled around, I was down to just three cigarettes a day.

Another thing that was a huge help was I started eating sunflower seeds… the kind in the shell that you always see ballplayers eating and spitting out on TV (it’s important to get the shelled kind because the time and effort it takes for your teeth to crack the seed open and then extract the nugget with your tongue is what keeps your mouth busy and your mind off of reaching for that pack of cigarettes, which you should keep in another room, way out of sight). I’d buy bags of the David Jalapeño Hot Salsa seeds and eat them whenever I’d get that craving for a smoke, or just when I was hanging out at home watching TV or going on the Internet. This was very important as it gave my mouth something to do instead of suckin’ on a cancer stick. I highly recommend getting into the sunflower seed habit in order to alleviate your nicotine habit. Just make sure you have a little cup handy to spit the shells into. Now, this is what worked for me. You may find that gum (maybe even nicotine gum) or something else can serve the same purpose. I never gave anything like that a shot, I just found that I really liked those spicy seeds and they served the purpose well. I still eat them, in fact.

So if you’re thinking about quitting, here’s how to do it: Plan early. Tell everyone you know you’re going to quit, and when. Tell them your plan—how you plan on doing it. Then convince YOURSELF that you’re going to do it. This may be the hardest part, but if you can convince yourself, then it’s basically a done deal. All you need to do is follow through with the plan. But allow yourself at least three months to start cutting back. Then do it slowly. Cut out smoking on Mondays entirely. Then cut down on the number of cigarettes per day gradually over time so that by the end of the third month, you’re down to next-to-nothing. And make that deadline an important date. New Year’s Eve, your birthday, an anniversary… some date that’s meaningful. And so that later you can look back and be able to recall how long it’s been since you quit. I seriously believe the hardest part of quitting is the psychology involved with it. If you don’t accept the fact that you’re going to quit (and when), then it won’t happen. All the sunflower seeds, nicotine gum and patches in the world won’t make up for that.

This is what worked for me. Obviously, it may not work for everyone, and you may or may not have the same success I did, but it’s worth a try. But if you’re thinking about quitting, you’ve already made a big step towards this objective, so it’s just a matter of sticking to your guns and not giving in. Good luck!

I first remember people giving me shit for “getting old” back when I turned 30. Ya know, the big three-oh. Thirty-odd-even. Um, twenty-ten. Yeah. But I didn’t buy it. I still felt young. Shit, this was 1995. I hadn’t even started doing The Wayback Machine yet. Gina and I had only been married for a little over four years. No kids yet. Still working retail. Not many responsibilities. I didn’t even have a website yet. Lots of fun years ahead! “Fuck it,” I said, “it’s just a number. Doesn’t mean anything.” And so it was. I went though my thirties like Grant taking Richmond. No holds barred, baby. Fun, fun, fun. OK, so I admit that I matured a bit midway through when I decided to quit smoking, but aside from that, I was the same guy, still enjoying life’s simple pleasures like booze and live rock’n'roll, still able to go out and see sometimes multiple shows in the same week, even, all the way up until shortly after my 38th birthday when my son was born. THAT was the first major life-altering change. Not bad, I guess, considering I was able to hold that off ’til my late thirties, right? Right. So then, not long after that, I turned 40 and yeah, I was starting to feel older… not quite as energetic and youthful as in the past. More aches, pains, and longer recovery times from drinking too much. But I was still able to hack it. That is, up until November 19, 2008, when I got an email from my high school’s alumni association with news about my class’ upcoming TWENTY-FIFTH reunion, scheduled for next June. What’s that? 25 years?! You’re shittin’ me. It’s been THAT long? A quarter of a century since I fucking GRADUATED from HIGH SCHOOL? Holy fucking shit. OK, that’s it. I’m officially old.

So now I have this dilemma staring at me in the face: to go or not to go? That is the question. I have to admit that I really didn’t like a lot of people in my high school class (Parkway West class of ‘84, in case you’re curious… and if you’re from St. Louis, you probably are), but honestly, who does? And then, too, it was a pretty big class. Hell, I didn’t even KNOW most of them. But looking back at my senior yearbook, there were probably dozens of kids that I got along with pretty well (even more if you count juniors, sophomores and freshmen), and a few fellow seniors that I’d even consider pretty close friends back then. I’ve even gotten back in touch with a few via Myspace, Facebook and plain ol’ email. One of them, Bruce Clayton, was even my college roommate for my first semester at CMSU. So now I’m thinkin’, ya know, if enough of these people that I actually wouldn’t mind hanging out with say they’re going, that I’ll go ahead and make plans. Or at least set the date aside… for now, anyway.

Why I like my 1965 Plymouth Barracuda:

1. It’s so ugly it’s beautiful.
2. That Slant Six will probably outlive me. Seriously, they run forever! They’re virtually indestructible and extremely simple and easy to work on (not to mention supe up).
3. C’mon, that back window is huge! Bubble back! Glass back! Over 14 square feet of glass back there to watch the world go by!
4. Versatility. It can seat five pretty comfortably, or you can lay that back seat down and haul all kindsa crap in the back. And speaking of that back cargo area… You can actually lay under that big window. The backseat folds down to reveal about 7′ of open space in the back. Then you just climb back there, get comfortable with a pillow and a sixer, kick back and stare up at the stars. Fuckin’ wonderful.
5. It has no side-view mirrors. Nope, not on either side. They were still in the trunk when I bought the car. The previous owners just never installed them. I don’t think I’ve ever come across another early ‘Cuda without mirrors. Never had ‘em, never will (as long as I own it, anyway).
6. I like to imagine new ways of painting or modifying it. Like painting it Petty blue and putting the “43 Jr.” on the doors and Plymouth” on the back quarters. That’d be cool, but I’d probably get tired of that blue pretty quick. I think eventually I’ll probably go with a copper color (one of the original colors offered). I’ve just never been a big fan of red cars. I’ll leave the interior black, and probably put a big black stripe down the center of the top of the car, front to back. Tint that big back window, paint some cop wheels black with chrome lugs, and run all-black tires, the beefier the better. No low-profile tires on 20″ billet rims on this baby, no sirreee.
7. It’s paid for. Owning this car keeps me from going out and spending a lot of money on a car I don’t need… and then having an additional car payment to fork out every month. As long as this is my daily driver, I’ll drive it. No need for another car. And driving a car that’s paid for is a damned good feeling, even if it does need costly repairs every few months. But hey, that’s the reality of driving a 42-year-old automobile.
8. We’re the same age. I dunno, I just think that’s cool. So sue me.
9. No bells or whistles. It’s just a car. Hell, right now the radio doesn’t even work. No power windows, power steering, power breaks, power seats, air conditioning… nothing! And I *like it* like that. Well, OK, it does have a horn. My bad.
10. I have only seen one other ‘64/’65 Barracuda driving on the streets of St. Louis in the 5+ years I’ve owned mine, and that was probably 4 years ago now. None since. And actually, now that I think about it, that may have been a ‘66 (slightly different body style). I saw another ‘66 parked on the side of the street in the Richmond Heights area a coule of years ago, too, but if it’s not moving, it doesn’t count. So as far as I can tell, there are close to none (or at least VERY few) others out there on the road, at least locally. So it’s unique. VERY unique. That said, I would be very happy to see a few others out there on the streets. Why there aren’t any completely baffles me, to tell you the truth. I see them for sale all the time, especially on eBay (where I unashamedly purchased mine).

I just wanted to post that I’m very proud to not have ever read one word of, nor seen one minute of, any Harry Potter story, and I’m OK with that. Very content, as a matter of fact, thankyouverymuch. This cultural phenomenon just goes right over my head, sorry.

Ya know, it’s kinda funny in that odd-feeling in your stomach kinda funny, not HAHA/HOHO/HEHE/ROFL/LMFAO/LOL kinda funny… but walking out of the movie theater a couple of weeks ago after going to see Ratatouille with my wife and son, I saw “Potter” above one of the other theater doorways, and a long line of people stretched out from it. The first thought to come to my mind was to blurt out, “Oh, look, they made a movie about Jason Potter!” Then I realized what it was and I was suddenly very sad and embarrassed. Fuck you, Harry Potter. Fuck you.

So, I guess if Wikipedia deletes it, then it doesn’t exist, right? I mean, certainly it’s not a legitimate style or sub-genre of rock’n'roll. Why else would they completely remove the page? If you’re in a garage punk band, you must simply cease to exist! *Poof*

Read more about it here:
http://www.garagepunk.com/forums/viewtopic.php?t=31227

Wikipedia needs to get a fucking clue, especially this “Anthony Bradbury” moron. And I’m hoping all fans of garage punk rock’n'roll will help send that message to them. Click here for the talk page. They didn’t even leave an explanation as to why they deleted it!

Thanks.

I can’t help it, but I’m getting really tired of novelty bands. Ya know, bands that do something corny like play “instrumental versions of Misfits songs” or KISS-tribute bands composed of all midgets and all that. What is this? Dread Zeppelin II? Please, make it stop already. Have you no originality? What would cause a bunch of people to get together to form a band and say “Yeah, that sounds like a great idea! Surf Misfits! Wow!” If you ask me that’s just as bad as the people that pay $40 or more to go see a bunch of doofs dressed up on stage pretending to be The Beatles. People wonder what happened to music. Well there’s a perfect example. No originality. No thought being put into creating great new rock’n'roll. Obviously there ARE lots of great bands out there today, don’t get me wrong. And not all of them are doing anything that NEW sound-wise, but they certainly aren’t a blatant novelty act like that. The Sirens are a another perfect example. I love their sound, they’re a great band. But they don’t do anything but covers. What the fuck? Wouldn’t you think they’d want to play some originals, ya know, create new music? Isn’t that the point of being in a band? Why make a conscious choice to be nothing more than a cover band? I just don’t get it.

So that’s my gripe for the day.