Matt, you've obviously not spent much time in England. In this country we have jillions of pseudo-Brit pubs, some of which get the look right. But none of them have ever reproduced their lovely smell. A good pub has a cloudy fug made up of beer, furniture polish, a whiff urine (from the gent's trough out back), wet dog fur and of course of smoke from ciggies (theirs smell a little different from ours) and the occasional pipe. It's warm and welcoming, one quickly learns to love iI haven't been over the Pond in years, but I still can close my eyes and remember itt. In fact, one of the nicest features of the UK is that it smells great, their bus fumes even smell better than ours.
In our country, the closest equivalent was perhaps the smell of the bar car on the local express from Grand Central up to Bronxville, chock full of smoke and booze fumes as many weary businessmen congregated to down a couple of quick bracers before being able to face the wife and kids. Again it was warm, friendly and embracing. Give the the choice of such venues or being healthy, I'd cheerfully opt for the former. But at least in this country the bastards have taken the choice away from me. And yet we have the gnids to call ourselves the land of the free? Not so, comrade.
Oh, the lovely days of smoking, wing window open to flick ashes out, rolling the cigarette around in ashtray to keep it tidy and ashless. Fiddling with your lighter. Eating out at a restaurant and that delightful post prandial light-up. Ah, the olden days.
Before iPhones eradicated boredom (or the old-fashioned kind of boredom), cigarettes did the same thing -- but much more elegantly. Say you got to the bar early and were waiting on a friend. Nothing better than smoking a cigarette, your drink in front of you, a couple of wry words with the bartender, and staring off into space through a veil of smoke. As you noted, there was a ritual to it: pulling the cigarette from the pack, tapping it on the filter end to pack down the tobacco, lighting it with a flaring match, your hand cupped around the flame although there was no wind, shaking out the match, and then taking that first, long inhale -- holding, savoring it, and then blowing the smoke out through your nostrils.
I quit smoking on December 31, 1997. If I make it to 95, I'm going to take it back up again.
You had me at the Matts. Sometimes I open these and kid myself into thinking I'm just going to skim cuz I am so damn busy in retirement but I can't seem to tear myself away. I wish you had written my statistics books.
Yes, smoking. I was a performative smoker. Never smoked when I was alone in my shabby little studio apartment but out and about, I was as cool as Bacall sitting across from Bogie. A brief flitation with Kools because, you know, cool but finally gave into Marlboros. No lady cigarettes like Virginia Slims for me. The trouble was, they made me nauseous. So I quit. Two days later, someone in a bar offered me a cigarette and I said 'No, I quit.' They asked how long and I said 'Thursday' and everybody laughed. But it took. Have not smoked tobacco since.
I want to offer you a happy COVID story. I got it in April, no issues. My son got it two weeks ago which meant his 1-year-old, June, could not go to daycare for ten days. He and his wife both work from home so that meant they would be wrangling a very busy little girl while in Zoom meetings.
So I did what any layabout grandparent would do. I packed up for a ten-day stay with the sweetest little girl east of the Mississippi. I'm not gonna lie. She had me jumping. I am far more spry today than I was before our daycare-cation. (Thank you, Aleve.) But what are you going to do when she's about to roll off the couch or poke the dog's eye out?
That's not the good part. The best thing is she and I are real buddies now, not the obligatory 'hug Mimi goodbye, June.' We are pals. I even taught her a new word . . . 'Uh-oh.' I know she won't remember but as Joaquin Phoenix says in 'C'mon, C'mon,' I will and I will remind her.
Bonus benefit. My son and daughter-in-law did not get sick of me. As a matter of fact, they cherished the ten days together.
So, thanks COVID, you crappy little virus. You gifted us in a way we couldn't have imagined but will never forget.
I wasn’t even going to read this evil post. But then I remembered that I used to smoke myself, and I rarely cared about people smoking around me. I once worked in a very crowded office space with a young man who lit one cigarette off the previous one. I estimate three packs a day. And I had an uncle who smoked unfiltered Camels. Didn’t bother me. I’m super lucky because I’m immune to nicotine addiction (don’t ask me why). I could pick it up today for a few months, and it would end the way it always has, I say to me: let’s ditch the cigarettes. Then I move on without skipping a beat, no withdrawal issues whatsoever.
First of all, wish all your household a speedy recovery
I have somehow managed to not get Covid, even when my roomie and my boss, the two people I spend the most enclosed time with both got it, one last Christmas, one the next week at New year's...I am double vaxxed and now double boosted...but , not sure that is why, or the only reason
I never had measles or chicken pox, and all my siblings did, I rarely get colds or flus...I didn't even get a sore arm from the shots...let alone any other symptoms, I never bothered testing because of this and because I pretty much don't come into contact with many people these days...if I did get it at any point, I was symptomless...I am prone to occasional bronchitis since I was an infant
I wonder if there is some hereditary thing going on..both my maternal grandparents died at 94, my grandfather didn't smoke, but, my grandmother did...up until she died pretty much, and had no lung or heart issues...she actually died of something that could have been avoided and was kinda dumb in a way...my mom will be 84 in November...she still smokes, but, not nearly as much, a few cigarettes a day maybe, she doesn't have lung cancer, but, does have some breathing issues...I think at her age she figures it just doesn't matter anymore, and I get the feeling that she is ready to go either way
The women in my family are pretty tough...
My concern with getting it has more to due with I am high risk in a couple of ways, and still uninsured, and the last thing I need is a hospital stay , especially a prolonged one...my great nieces graduation party is next Saturday and it is outside, but I am debating wearing a mask or not going...
I was a heavy smoker in the 60's and 70's just like it seemed everyone else was, particularly in the military. I never quit enjoying it, but it just got too darn inconvenient trying to plan your day around places where you could have a quick smoke, so on August 20 at 12 noon in 1984 my wife and I both quit cold turkey. I remember the exact date and time because it was the hardest thing I've ever had to do.
I'm glad I don't smoke anymore. I'm healthier, life is more convenient and I'm not spending as much money and I don't really miss it - but- if I ever saw those falling contrails from the stratosphere of those Russian missiles coming down to destroy the world, I wouldn't head to the bunker but to the Circle K to buy a half dozen cartons of Marlboro Reds and a case of Jack to meet Armageddon a happy lad.
My Dad was a smoker. He tried lots of things to wean himself off smoking . Rolling his own. He could successfully roll and light a smoke with papers, a bag of tobacco, some spit and a match in a hurricane. When that failed he turned to corn cob pipes. One particularly windy day, wind straight in the face, his pipe gripped in his teeth, he reached around front to take the pipe in hand only to discover a red glowing ember horseshoe shaped remnant of his pipe residing there. He could not get it out of his hand fast enough to avoid being branded by his own pipe. The tobacco in the bowl was long since gone. He had been smoking the cob for awhile. I loved my Dad for many things but I hated him for smoking. All the time, everywhere except Church, the car, the house, restaurants, if he had em he smoked em and he always had em. He wreaked of cigarette smoke every day I knew him. He finally managed to quit, shortly after the last kid left home. Humans have needs. Smoking must fill some for certain people, drinking for others, responding to articles for others and on and on.
While reading this, the opening lyrics of a Montgomery Gentry song (Free Fall) kept running through my head...
I slept straight through to eight a.m.
That same old lame alarm clock excuse just ain't gonna work again
I light a Marlboro for breakfast on the way out the door...
Been there, done that, back in the day when I punched the clock at two jobs 70 to 80+ hours a week for years. Sometimes figured that might kill me before I was through (the timeclocks, not the Marlboros), but no, I'm still here. For a while, I think. What's left of me anyway.
Kidding. Besides a few high-mileage aches and pains, I ain't doin' half bad, all things considered. Can actually still throw a bale of hay above my head (although not as many or as quickly as I used to), or a saddle over the back of a 16-hand horse, though climbing up into the damned thing is a bit of a challenge on occasion. And not just because I'm a bit short between the hip and the ground.
Smoking was (is) a crutch to help some of us limp along in this life. I'll admit it. But most of us are gonna lean on something, sooner or later, one way or another. And when it comes down to it these days, I'll take the guys whose crutches come chilled 6 at a time or 20 to a pack, as opposed to those who load them 20 or more to a magazine.
Sorry. Know you dropped the PhD thing. No offense. Sort of got used to thinking of you that way, I guess. Like Doc Deborah, another I've sort of come to think of as a 'friend' in this little digital domain. Just a term of endearment, so to speak.
I much appreciate your kind words, but tears weren't really what I was going for there!
Names...we sometimes put a lot of stock in them. Well, I do, anyway, for various reasons. Like my one remaining American QH gelding. Got him as a weanling 20 years ago. Had to give him a name. Wanted one that would suit. That can sometimes be hard and get a little weird, when it comes to an 'official registered name' for the AQHA paperwork, which a lot of folks try to make reflect something about a horse's bloodline. His daddy belonged to a breeder I was friends with, and his registered name was Cool Doc Remedy. His momma was a QH mare named Miss Glo Dee Bars. There were elements in those name combinations that went back several generations on both sides. What to do?
Glo's Cool Remedy.
Now, it wouldn't be obvious to anyone but me, but there was a particular meaning that name denoted for me, which was, very loosely speaking, a prescription for fun. Or maybe a little happiness. Maybe both. Something good for whatever might be ailin' me.
But unless they're really weird - and believe me, some horse people got a good dose of that going for them - no one walks around calling their horse by their registered name. Gotta' have a 'barn name'. So, his is, coincidentally, Doc, sort of in honor of his daddy, a pretty good horse in a number of ways. And Doc's always writing a 'script' that is good for what might be ailin' me. Really. I couldn't have done any better in the name department. For although I've owned horses that were better than him in some respects (mostly to do with physical confirmation), I've never had one that is quite like him personality-wise. A 'kind' horse, though sometimes a bit temperamental and quite demonstrative. Just spoiled, a big baby, really. But he's 1100+ pounds of Personality. I often refer to him as The Joker, because if I don't see him do something at least once a day that makes me laugh or at least smile a little, I'm just not paying attention. So, he often really is a good 'doctor'.
So, without bending this parallel too far out of shape, if you'd prefer that I refrain from calling you Doc, I'll certainly stick to Susan. Don't want to offend, or take any privileges I'm not entitled to. But it just sort of seems to fit, especially in light of what I wrote above, since what you (and Doc D.) write here in the backwaters of ST often makes me - and I'm sure quite a few others - feel a little better sometimes.
I guess what got me started on this was that 'Mr.' Trosino thing. My friends call me Mike. Sometimes Michael. Well, mostly they call me by 'terms of endearment' that would land me in Slack Tide Jail if I were to repeat them here. Which ought to tell you something, considering some of the words that occasionally show up in this space. What exactly that is, I'm not sure, other than guys will be guys, I reckon. You may call me anything you want, as long as, as they say, it's not late for dinner. But please. Not Mister. Doesn't seem to fit, considering we're not exactly 'strangers' here. And I'm already feeling old enough as it is. Leave calling me Mister to the whippersnappers of a lesser age. Like Matt ;-) They owe folks like us an honorific, if for no other reason than we've made it this far along the trail and are more or less still in one piece.
BTW...a couple of my grandkids were here recently for a visit. By the time my little 'pals' left, I had to go back to work just to rest up. If the next time the Aleve doesn't work for ya', I can recommend a couple of good brands of bourbon in different proofs that will get the job done.
Mike, what a great naming story. And, yes, please, you are welcome to call me Doc as often as you like. When I worked with the Marines, I tried everything I could to get them to call me Susan but it never worked. It was always Doc or Doctor J. I gave up but felt that if it was a nickname they could live with, then so could I.
Affirmative on the bourbon. I jumped right in when I got home.
Thanks for your very gracious response but I landed on the Mister only because I didn't know your first name. Now I do and I consider it a privilege to be able to call you by it.
Between you and Deborah and Matt, I think I am in very good company and grateful for it.
I lived in California for a while in the 70s. Anti smoking sentiment was just getting started. A friend was on that bandwagon and one day while riding in her VW Beetle I noticed a sticker on the inside of her passenger door - “please step outside to smoke.” One way to avoid the need to ask!
I loved smoking cigarettes. I did. There, I said it. I would still be smoking if it didn’t have such awful side effects like death and that gross film on the inside of your windshield. But you nailed it with the habit part. When I quit, and after the physical addiction was gone, I would still think about smoking when I reached into my inside pocket on my jacket even though the smokes were long since gone. I missed the kind of forced 5 minute break it would give me from the stresses of the day, allowing me to think and reset my brain, versus just pile driving all day long. My MIL smokes like a chimney and I can’t stand it but maybe there’s more to it than just the smoking. In the meantime I hope everyone in your abode starts to feel better Matt. And as always big thanks for the smiles, snark, and wit. PS - I’ve been tapping on the bamboo here waiting for more cilantro. Still waiting.
I smoked for 29 years. Glad I quit 17 years ago. I have had a friggin horrible last 4 days and would love a smoke. But, I'm just going to sleep for a few hours and try to forget a stretch of bum luck...I guess I was due. I've had some real good luck for too long.
I loved the appetizer, but the main dish really spoke to me. “Smokers are the only people it’s safe to hate” is my favorite truism. I’ve smoked unfiltered Camels since they became my brand of choice on the US Coast Guard Cutter Ivy, circa 1957. I also enjoy a Romeo y Julieta Vintage III cigar every evening. When they banned smoking from bars I discovered that solitary drinking and smoking didn’t feel right, so I eventually gave up drinking. So I’m nicotine-addicted and love the taste of tobacco. The only point in confessing to my noxious habit is to ask: now that we’ve been more or less excommunicated from society, can’t smokers just be left alone? Vapers too, since their only sin is mimicking smokers and looking like they’re enjoying themselves.
Back in 1997, at the age of 26, I quit smoking after picking it up at 19. One day, I just didn't feel like doing it anymore.
It was one of the best decisions I ever made, but sometimes I do miss smoking "culture." A cigarette hanging out of my mouth while lining up a shot in a pool hall, staying up all night drinking and smoking with my buddies, chain smoking on a long drive to keep alert...there was something great about all that.
But I'm still glad I quit, and I almost never experience temptation to light one up again. Honestly, although I'm for tolerance as well, I can't stand being around smoking now and try to avoid situations where it's allowed.
Matt, you've obviously not spent much time in England. In this country we have jillions of pseudo-Brit pubs, some of which get the look right. But none of them have ever reproduced their lovely smell. A good pub has a cloudy fug made up of beer, furniture polish, a whiff urine (from the gent's trough out back), wet dog fur and of course of smoke from ciggies (theirs smell a little different from ours) and the occasional pipe. It's warm and welcoming, one quickly learns to love iI haven't been over the Pond in years, but I still can close my eyes and remember itt. In fact, one of the nicest features of the UK is that it smells great, their bus fumes even smell better than ours.
In our country, the closest equivalent was perhaps the smell of the bar car on the local express from Grand Central up to Bronxville, chock full of smoke and booze fumes as many weary businessmen congregated to down a couple of quick bracers before being able to face the wife and kids. Again it was warm, friendly and embracing. Give the the choice of such venues or being healthy, I'd cheerfully opt for the former. But at least in this country the bastards have taken the choice away from me. And yet we have the gnids to call ourselves the land of the free? Not so, comrade.
You are entitled to your opinion but not facts.
Oh, the lovely days of smoking, wing window open to flick ashes out, rolling the cigarette around in ashtray to keep it tidy and ashless. Fiddling with your lighter. Eating out at a restaurant and that delightful post prandial light-up. Ah, the olden days.
Excellent
Before iPhones eradicated boredom (or the old-fashioned kind of boredom), cigarettes did the same thing -- but much more elegantly. Say you got to the bar early and were waiting on a friend. Nothing better than smoking a cigarette, your drink in front of you, a couple of wry words with the bartender, and staring off into space through a veil of smoke. As you noted, there was a ritual to it: pulling the cigarette from the pack, tapping it on the filter end to pack down the tobacco, lighting it with a flaring match, your hand cupped around the flame although there was no wind, shaking out the match, and then taking that first, long inhale -- holding, savoring it, and then blowing the smoke out through your nostrils.
I quit smoking on December 31, 1997. If I make it to 95, I'm going to take it back up again.
I'm with you Bro. Quit in 1984.
You had me at the Matts. Sometimes I open these and kid myself into thinking I'm just going to skim cuz I am so damn busy in retirement but I can't seem to tear myself away. I wish you had written my statistics books.
Yes, smoking. I was a performative smoker. Never smoked when I was alone in my shabby little studio apartment but out and about, I was as cool as Bacall sitting across from Bogie. A brief flitation with Kools because, you know, cool but finally gave into Marlboros. No lady cigarettes like Virginia Slims for me. The trouble was, they made me nauseous. So I quit. Two days later, someone in a bar offered me a cigarette and I said 'No, I quit.' They asked how long and I said 'Thursday' and everybody laughed. But it took. Have not smoked tobacco since.
I want to offer you a happy COVID story. I got it in April, no issues. My son got it two weeks ago which meant his 1-year-old, June, could not go to daycare for ten days. He and his wife both work from home so that meant they would be wrangling a very busy little girl while in Zoom meetings.
So I did what any layabout grandparent would do. I packed up for a ten-day stay with the sweetest little girl east of the Mississippi. I'm not gonna lie. She had me jumping. I am far more spry today than I was before our daycare-cation. (Thank you, Aleve.) But what are you going to do when she's about to roll off the couch or poke the dog's eye out?
That's not the good part. The best thing is she and I are real buddies now, not the obligatory 'hug Mimi goodbye, June.' We are pals. I even taught her a new word . . . 'Uh-oh.' I know she won't remember but as Joaquin Phoenix says in 'C'mon, C'mon,' I will and I will remind her.
Bonus benefit. My son and daughter-in-law did not get sick of me. As a matter of fact, they cherished the ten days together.
So, thanks COVID, you crappy little virus. You gifted us in a way we couldn't have imagined but will never forget.
what a beautiful story Susan
this is the best immortality of all
and you and precious June
have only just begun
Dear Deborah, you always bless us with your kind response. So glad you are here.
to paraphrase the immortal words
of Joe Cocker
y'all give me reason to live 🎶
I wasn’t even going to read this evil post. But then I remembered that I used to smoke myself, and I rarely cared about people smoking around me. I once worked in a very crowded office space with a young man who lit one cigarette off the previous one. I estimate three packs a day. And I had an uncle who smoked unfiltered Camels. Didn’t bother me. I’m super lucky because I’m immune to nicotine addiction (don’t ask me why). I could pick it up today for a few months, and it would end the way it always has, I say to me: let’s ditch the cigarettes. Then I move on without skipping a beat, no withdrawal issues whatsoever.
Hi Matt, loved this one a lot
First of all, wish all your household a speedy recovery
I have somehow managed to not get Covid, even when my roomie and my boss, the two people I spend the most enclosed time with both got it, one last Christmas, one the next week at New year's...I am double vaxxed and now double boosted...but , not sure that is why, or the only reason
I never had measles or chicken pox, and all my siblings did, I rarely get colds or flus...I didn't even get a sore arm from the shots...let alone any other symptoms, I never bothered testing because of this and because I pretty much don't come into contact with many people these days...if I did get it at any point, I was symptomless...I am prone to occasional bronchitis since I was an infant
I wonder if there is some hereditary thing going on..both my maternal grandparents died at 94, my grandfather didn't smoke, but, my grandmother did...up until she died pretty much, and had no lung or heart issues...she actually died of something that could have been avoided and was kinda dumb in a way...my mom will be 84 in November...she still smokes, but, not nearly as much, a few cigarettes a day maybe, she doesn't have lung cancer, but, does have some breathing issues...I think at her age she figures it just doesn't matter anymore, and I get the feeling that she is ready to go either way
The women in my family are pretty tough...
My concern with getting it has more to due with I am high risk in a couple of ways, and still uninsured, and the last thing I need is a hospital stay , especially a prolonged one...my great nieces graduation party is next Saturday and it is outside, but I am debating wearing a mask or not going...
I was a heavy smoker in the 60's and 70's just like it seemed everyone else was, particularly in the military. I never quit enjoying it, but it just got too darn inconvenient trying to plan your day around places where you could have a quick smoke, so on August 20 at 12 noon in 1984 my wife and I both quit cold turkey. I remember the exact date and time because it was the hardest thing I've ever had to do.
I'm glad I don't smoke anymore. I'm healthier, life is more convenient and I'm not spending as much money and I don't really miss it - but- if I ever saw those falling contrails from the stratosphere of those Russian missiles coming down to destroy the world, I wouldn't head to the bunker but to the Circle K to buy a half dozen cartons of Marlboro Reds and a case of Jack to meet Armageddon a happy lad.
My Dad was a smoker. He tried lots of things to wean himself off smoking . Rolling his own. He could successfully roll and light a smoke with papers, a bag of tobacco, some spit and a match in a hurricane. When that failed he turned to corn cob pipes. One particularly windy day, wind straight in the face, his pipe gripped in his teeth, he reached around front to take the pipe in hand only to discover a red glowing ember horseshoe shaped remnant of his pipe residing there. He could not get it out of his hand fast enough to avoid being branded by his own pipe. The tobacco in the bowl was long since gone. He had been smoking the cob for awhile. I loved my Dad for many things but I hated him for smoking. All the time, everywhere except Church, the car, the house, restaurants, if he had em he smoked em and he always had em. He wreaked of cigarette smoke every day I knew him. He finally managed to quit, shortly after the last kid left home. Humans have needs. Smoking must fill some for certain people, drinking for others, responding to articles for others and on and on.
While reading this, the opening lyrics of a Montgomery Gentry song (Free Fall) kept running through my head...
I slept straight through to eight a.m.
That same old lame alarm clock excuse just ain't gonna work again
I light a Marlboro for breakfast on the way out the door...
Been there, done that, back in the day when I punched the clock at two jobs 70 to 80+ hours a week for years. Sometimes figured that might kill me before I was through (the timeclocks, not the Marlboros), but no, I'm still here. For a while, I think. What's left of me anyway.
Kidding. Besides a few high-mileage aches and pains, I ain't doin' half bad, all things considered. Can actually still throw a bale of hay above my head (although not as many or as quickly as I used to), or a saddle over the back of a 16-hand horse, though climbing up into the damned thing is a bit of a challenge on occasion. And not just because I'm a bit short between the hip and the ground.
Smoking was (is) a crutch to help some of us limp along in this life. I'll admit it. But most of us are gonna lean on something, sooner or later, one way or another. And when it comes down to it these days, I'll take the guys whose crutches come chilled 6 at a time or 20 to a pack, as opposed to those who load them 20 or more to a magazine.
All day, every day. And twice on Sunday.
Gosh, Mr. Trosino, you made me tear up. Yes, to all of the above and so very happy you are still here.
Geeze, Doc!
Sorry. Know you dropped the PhD thing. No offense. Sort of got used to thinking of you that way, I guess. Like Doc Deborah, another I've sort of come to think of as a 'friend' in this little digital domain. Just a term of endearment, so to speak.
I much appreciate your kind words, but tears weren't really what I was going for there!
Names...we sometimes put a lot of stock in them. Well, I do, anyway, for various reasons. Like my one remaining American QH gelding. Got him as a weanling 20 years ago. Had to give him a name. Wanted one that would suit. That can sometimes be hard and get a little weird, when it comes to an 'official registered name' for the AQHA paperwork, which a lot of folks try to make reflect something about a horse's bloodline. His daddy belonged to a breeder I was friends with, and his registered name was Cool Doc Remedy. His momma was a QH mare named Miss Glo Dee Bars. There were elements in those name combinations that went back several generations on both sides. What to do?
Glo's Cool Remedy.
Now, it wouldn't be obvious to anyone but me, but there was a particular meaning that name denoted for me, which was, very loosely speaking, a prescription for fun. Or maybe a little happiness. Maybe both. Something good for whatever might be ailin' me.
But unless they're really weird - and believe me, some horse people got a good dose of that going for them - no one walks around calling their horse by their registered name. Gotta' have a 'barn name'. So, his is, coincidentally, Doc, sort of in honor of his daddy, a pretty good horse in a number of ways. And Doc's always writing a 'script' that is good for what might be ailin' me. Really. I couldn't have done any better in the name department. For although I've owned horses that were better than him in some respects (mostly to do with physical confirmation), I've never had one that is quite like him personality-wise. A 'kind' horse, though sometimes a bit temperamental and quite demonstrative. Just spoiled, a big baby, really. But he's 1100+ pounds of Personality. I often refer to him as The Joker, because if I don't see him do something at least once a day that makes me laugh or at least smile a little, I'm just not paying attention. So, he often really is a good 'doctor'.
So, without bending this parallel too far out of shape, if you'd prefer that I refrain from calling you Doc, I'll certainly stick to Susan. Don't want to offend, or take any privileges I'm not entitled to. But it just sort of seems to fit, especially in light of what I wrote above, since what you (and Doc D.) write here in the backwaters of ST often makes me - and I'm sure quite a few others - feel a little better sometimes.
I guess what got me started on this was that 'Mr.' Trosino thing. My friends call me Mike. Sometimes Michael. Well, mostly they call me by 'terms of endearment' that would land me in Slack Tide Jail if I were to repeat them here. Which ought to tell you something, considering some of the words that occasionally show up in this space. What exactly that is, I'm not sure, other than guys will be guys, I reckon. You may call me anything you want, as long as, as they say, it's not late for dinner. But please. Not Mister. Doesn't seem to fit, considering we're not exactly 'strangers' here. And I'm already feeling old enough as it is. Leave calling me Mister to the whippersnappers of a lesser age. Like Matt ;-) They owe folks like us an honorific, if for no other reason than we've made it this far along the trail and are more or less still in one piece.
BTW...a couple of my grandkids were here recently for a visit. By the time my little 'pals' left, I had to go back to work just to rest up. If the next time the Aleve doesn't work for ya', I can recommend a couple of good brands of bourbon in different proofs that will get the job done.
Mike, what a great naming story. And, yes, please, you are welcome to call me Doc as often as you like. When I worked with the Marines, I tried everything I could to get them to call me Susan but it never worked. It was always Doc or Doctor J. I gave up but felt that if it was a nickname they could live with, then so could I.
Affirmative on the bourbon. I jumped right in when I got home.
Thanks for your very gracious response but I landed on the Mister only because I didn't know your first name. Now I do and I consider it a privilege to be able to call you by it.
Between you and Deborah and Matt, I think I am in very good company and grateful for it.
Ditto on the company thing. Never hurts to have a couple of friends in low plac...er, places like this. Sorry, Matt.
You are aces, Mike. Yut, as the Marines say.
I lived in California for a while in the 70s. Anti smoking sentiment was just getting started. A friend was on that bandwagon and one day while riding in her VW Beetle I noticed a sticker on the inside of her passenger door - “please step outside to smoke.” One way to avoid the need to ask!
I loved smoking cigarettes. I did. There, I said it. I would still be smoking if it didn’t have such awful side effects like death and that gross film on the inside of your windshield. But you nailed it with the habit part. When I quit, and after the physical addiction was gone, I would still think about smoking when I reached into my inside pocket on my jacket even though the smokes were long since gone. I missed the kind of forced 5 minute break it would give me from the stresses of the day, allowing me to think and reset my brain, versus just pile driving all day long. My MIL smokes like a chimney and I can’t stand it but maybe there’s more to it than just the smoking. In the meantime I hope everyone in your abode starts to feel better Matt. And as always big thanks for the smiles, snark, and wit. PS - I’ve been tapping on the bamboo here waiting for more cilantro. Still waiting.
I smoked for 29 years. Glad I quit 17 years ago. I have had a friggin horrible last 4 days and would love a smoke. But, I'm just going to sleep for a few hours and try to forget a stretch of bum luck...I guess I was due. I've had some real good luck for too long.
it never ceases to amaze me
what a nap can do
mine practically transform me :)
we wake up with such different eyes
we find we are bigger than our nightmares
(and our daymares)
may your horrible days begone
and your real good days resume
Well here's hoping things settle down. I'd offer you a cigarette, but I don't smoke.
I loved the appetizer, but the main dish really spoke to me. “Smokers are the only people it’s safe to hate” is my favorite truism. I’ve smoked unfiltered Camels since they became my brand of choice on the US Coast Guard Cutter Ivy, circa 1957. I also enjoy a Romeo y Julieta Vintage III cigar every evening. When they banned smoking from bars I discovered that solitary drinking and smoking didn’t feel right, so I eventually gave up drinking. So I’m nicotine-addicted and love the taste of tobacco. The only point in confessing to my noxious habit is to ask: now that we’ve been more or less excommunicated from society, can’t smokers just be left alone? Vapers too, since their only sin is mimicking smokers and looking like they’re enjoying themselves.
I won't bother you. Though I could do without all the vaping. Nobody looks cool vaping. Humphrey Bogart would never vape.
Right. “Don’t Bogart that nicotine delivery system”—totally uncool.
Back in 1997, at the age of 26, I quit smoking after picking it up at 19. One day, I just didn't feel like doing it anymore.
It was one of the best decisions I ever made, but sometimes I do miss smoking "culture." A cigarette hanging out of my mouth while lining up a shot in a pool hall, staying up all night drinking and smoking with my buddies, chain smoking on a long drive to keep alert...there was something great about all that.
But I'm still glad I quit, and I almost never experience temptation to light one up again. Honestly, although I'm for tolerance as well, I can't stand being around smoking now and try to avoid situations where it's allowed.