The three incomparable C's

Yesterdays market smelt of small children and Sno-cones
Flowerscent had to compete so it stayed to the outskirts
Nodding and smiling to all people I knew
I had three incomparable C's laid out on the stoop
Tried getting through to the hospital
and oblivious dads parked squalling infants in my face

Smoke smoke revolution

We’re back on one of my favourite subjects. Tobacco. Now at this juncture I’ve been down to about six to eight cigarettes a day. I don’t want to hear all this “good for you” and “that’s great” twaddle either. It’s bad enough having to listen to it from the various doctors and such. It wasn’t through choice and there is nothing so very great about it except the amount of money I’m saving. Roll your owns that are not my beloved Export A’s just makes the whole thing a thousand times less fun, and that’s just all of that.

But the real revolution around here is that Oliver quit smoking a week ago. He just went from thirty to zero in three days. I guess that that is a really good use for that stubborn streak of his. The one where I’ve learned that once he says no that there is just no point in arguing, wheedling or whining at all. It’s just done.

During the week I collected and washed every ashtray in the house. I put quite a few away. The ones that are still out get emptied and washed a lot more frequently. They are tending to be the ones that are works of art in themselves. I love funky, cool ashtrays. Remember the days when they were everywhere? A lost, fucking art. Well, I’ve got mine and I’ll never give them up. Pry ‘em out of my cold, dead hands you fucking smoking nazi’s!

Chemical Castration

I’ve been having a bit of a “flat affect.” You may not have noticed.

So “we” are trying some new things. Massive doses of vitamin D3 is one. Three weeks after taking 5000 IU’s a day my levels are up into the bottom ranges of normal. Therefore I assume, that there was in fact, a previous deficit. Even though it’s one of the least expensive supplements I’ve ever gotten I am glad to say I can now drop on down to 3000 IU’s. Every little bit it helps.

Also it would appear that somewhere a hypo-thyroid thing appeared. I am being told that this nifty new pill will put some zippy in my pip. Am I pzipy yet? You tell me.

Then there’s the perennial favourite, which is that it is no longer February and early March in Michigan. This winter was a straight out bitch. What a long drawn out drag.

And there is the slow burn, subtle furious-ness at government and their insistence and propaganda that as a fat smoker I am THE embodiment of THE problem. Slow burn hatred is never good for my productivity. But again, I’m sure noone noticed.

And there you have it, the word castration is coming from the Greek word kaezein.
And that’s a cheesy movie reference, if you don’t get it it really can’t be helped.

The post in which everyone realizes what an idiot I truly am

I haven’t spoken about this yet but there has been something really making me completely crazy for several months now. It has been gathering steam and has now really come to a head in the last couple weeks.

See, I have been smoking the same brand of cigarettes for about 30 years now. They’re called Export A medium. Technically, I actually used to smoke the mild but they stopped making those... Anyway, these are very particular cigarettes. Made in Canada of a higher quality tobacco than, and with about 50% less weird chemicals than American. They are also significantly shorter than American cigarettes. No other tobacco product tastes like them.

The problem is that I can’t really afford them anymore. I noticed them just going up and up a few months ago. So I, with much trepidation, started checking out some roll your own tobaccos. I opted to try American Spirit Perique. It is all fancy and shit and comes in a cool black packet. Technically a blend, the perique part is a tobacco usually used in pipe tobacco blends. It is grown just on one plantation in North Carolina. So yeah, it’s all cool and hipscale I guess. In the long run it’s ok. But it tastes nothing like my smokes. It has gone stale in it’s pouch in my drawer and I kept on buying mine.

Suddenly the carton price went up ten dollars from the manufacturer. Let me put this in perspective - sixty eight dollars for two hundred cigarettes means thirty-four cents a piece. And people give me attitude for snarling at panhandlers asking for a smoke?! That's basically a buck every three cigarettes. I have been determinedly tooling around town, buying out every store that still has the old price for about two weeks now. Well, I have now officially emptied the town of all the old Exports. Today I reluctantly called the best tobacconist in town, Maison Edward, and asked them for a recommendation for loose tobacco. They suggested I might like “Peter Stokkeby Danish” whatever the fuck that was.

And that is how I found myself today, at my usual tobacconists, buying all the necessary accouterments to roll my own. The shortest rolling machine they sell, a bag of the shortest filters, three packs of zig-zag whites, and a can of this “Peter Stokkeby” muck. When I got to the checkout I just started crying. It was like I was going through that painful, disentangling, part of a disintegrating relationship. This is where the “I can just see everybody calling me an idiot” part comes in.

Well universe, just pardon the fuck out of me for loving what I love. What I love is good tobacco. More than drugs, more than booze, probably more than sex and chocolate both. Obviously quite possibly more than life itself. Because I really don’t care if tobacco kills me. Of course it actually won’t, because I am, of course, the special exception to that statistical norm. But if it did I am ok with that, well, the death part, not so much the part just prior to that.

Remember how I said earlier this fall about pieces of my identity falling away and I wasn’t handling it so well? Well this is sure feeling like another. Similar to, but less intense than a few years ago, when the cat I had lived with since I was eighteen died. The sense of loss is palpable. This is something I have known my entire adult life. And I can probably expect no support at all in this as most people, when suggesting that I quit smoking, have no understanding that I have been smoking since conception and that from over here that feels very much like a suggestion like “why don’t you just stop eating?” And don’t even tell me the government is doing all this for my own good. (The taxes part of the equation that is.) We all know that they don’t actually want me to quit cuz then I wouldn’t be paying the taxes they drool for would I? Nor would I die as early making their SSI system more efficient.

So that’s it , I am officially in mourning for my best friend and stupid “brand”. I am totally branded, commodified and I'm having a chee-Z American entitlement pissy, hissy fit about it. Yup I'm just a jerk.

The Good News Bible

Ha. Didya think I was gonna come back and explain my absence by saying I just got out of a camp and I’m ready to spread the good word? Not a prayer.

I think that whole “good news” movement was an offshoot of the weird, christian, “go thou amongst the hippies and convert” thing that happened in the 60’s and 70’s. “Oh you feel lost? Confused? Well did you notice how much like a hippie Jesus was? No? Well let me tell you.....”
I think that that is a devilish part of some of the “religious issues” we are experiencing these days. A lot of those people got evangeled pretty hard core and became pretty hard core themselves, then married hardcore and bred hardcore and there you are, right down the line to Jesus Camp.

Anyway, no, it’s finals and that’s all the excuse I have.
But I thought I would drop by and relay that I just got word that I received an A in Poli. Sci. Which means that technically I earned my degree today.

I know there are plenty of other people, with plenty of way better sounding letters after their names from plenty of way prestigious universities, but, it feels real weird, tingly, exciting, pretentious and slightly embarrassing to be a little giddy about saying to myself, “hey! I’ve earned a degree”. Oh and I earned hell out of it Honey.

The other thing that is noteworthy is that today I am trying to make a major inroad in the reduction of the amount of nicotine my body expects daily. Having stressed myself up to over a pack, something aggressive needs to be done. So I got me some Zyban and a kitchen timer and I’m pulling serious Mrs. Lafayette DuBois action. 1/2 a cigarette every 50 minutes today, then only every hour tomorrow. Then Weds. I am in class or on the bus for almost 12 hours straight anyway. So by Thurs. I might be able to get it down to 10 a day. I bin watchin’ that timer so far today though....

Yesterday and today

Yesterday’s earworm was “Welcome to the House of Fun” - Madness. Todays was “Stand Tall” -Who is that? The Raspberries? BTO? Either way neither has any precedent. No reason I can think of for either to pop.
That is the weirdness of the earworm machine (or sprite) in my head. Sometimes it’s clear why that came up, I heard it or thought of it in the previous month or so. Others it’s completely obscure, haven’t heard it or thought of it in ages.

In the meantime, I already have major finals stress occurring and have had to run all over town looking for someone who (a) even has my cigarettes (b) isn’t charging 9 dollars a pack. Found a new source finally. Smoky’s Tobacconist are rockin’ my world right now.
As well as:
This morning, eating the same breakfast I’ve eaten everyday for over a year, my fucking tooth broke. God blast it. I can’t tell you how difficult dental care is to find and provide for financially when you are completely broke. This sucks.

Next week:
3 Exams
8 Pg. research paper
1 Quiz
2 Oral presentations
1 Poetry reading
Fagghhh