Smoking made us more interesting

We were more interesting when we smoked.

Note that I didn’t say “healthier.” I didn’t say “better.” I didn’t say “stronger.” I said interesting.

And right out of the gate, don’t hand me all the crap about the dangers of smoking. You knew it if you were a smoker. Hell, you verbalized about it as you trotted off to “the smoking area” or lit up outside (you labeled them “nails in the coffin,” “cancer sticks,” … pick one). Even if you didn’t smoke, if you were standing next to a smoker, you were sucking in the same smoke.

In other words, everyone knew the dangers. We just accepted them. That continual bashing from the surgeon general and everyone else rang like white noise. There were mountains of statistics to prove every single point that why smoking is bad, iffy, risky … a roll of the dice.

But then, so are all the foods that you like to eat. So is driving without a seat belt, not wearing a helmet when you ride a motorcycle and having sex without a rubber. So is lying on the beach in the sun. So is the water we drink. Most of the fast food. Bungee jumping. Paragliding. We could go on and on.

But none of that Pollyanna blabbering matters. You and I still believe all the people that smoke are cooler and more powerful than you. Businessmen. Politicians. Athletes. Actors. James Dean did. Paul Newman did.  Brad Pitt does. Obama did (or does). One or two of the Jonas Brothers probably sneaks a smoke. The alpha people whose engines are always running at 101 percent of capacity: they take risks. They see the future through different colored lenses.

See, all of the people above mentioned do the one thing you want to do but can’t: they look The Man right in the eye and say, “Fuck you.”

Smoking is the every man’s Fight Club.

Movies. Television. Bars. Casinos. Airports, Workplaces. Bedrooms. All more interesting and enjoyable when smokers were in them. Even “Family Guy” acknowledged the allure when Lois told her son, “Chris, you know what they say: if she smokes, she pokes.”

Instead, smokers are marginalized like lepers in stained cement break areas and ramshackle wooden gazebos 50 yards from the hive. Television is smoke free. Books aren’t quite there yet. Movies get warning labels if someone lights up. Bars and clubs are filled with watered down liquor, and not much else. Casinos are giant, uninteresting corporate sponsored family arcades.

I doubt post-coital anything has changed.

To rebel, you cower. You just believe you’re cool because you can recite some AP story you saw on Google that said smoking will kill you. Then you evangelize to that one smoker in your building who hasn’t given a shit about anything you’ve said since he got his first paycheck. To the hive mind, that’s the new cool: to be a rat. Let the system take care of your woes, like they’ll stroke your head for a good deed, and still jack up your premiums 36 percent for good cause.

You’re welcome.

What we are painfully reminded of, almost daily, is that people who broke rules and defied the authority got laid faster than those who did not. They also got richer. They became more famous. They believed in the “you’ll get rich and go broke seven times in your life” prophecy. They’re Jimmy the Greek without the final meltdown. Ace Rothstein without the car bomb. Donald trump without bad hair. Harrison fucking Ford.

I have friends who quit. They miss it. They smile when they talk about how they used to smoke. Almost reverence. It gave them relief. Pleasure. A release. So, what replaces smoking as the new bad boy vice? Sexting? Huffing? Church? Seems the only thing that replaces it is talking about or jonesing for it. Besides, still seems like I see the same number young people lighting up, new users all. It’s just done without the same bravado or alacrity. But it’s done.

You probably think I’m advocating for smoking. I’m not. In fact, I’ve never smoked. I am, in fact, smoking neutral. But my mothers does. My father and step-father did. Both my grandparents did. My aunts. One of my sisters. And almost everyone I know has tried smoking, amd many of them still smoke. My wife still sneaks one or two a year.

I am, however, an advocate for killing the cookie cutter; for smashing the hive. I’m an advocate for people smart enough to know better but doing it anyway. I’m an advocate for begging forgiveness rather than asking permission. I’m an advocate for all these things because whatever we’re doing now doesn’t seem to be working and, frankly, it’s dull.

I’m an advocate for interesting. And we were more interesting when we smoked.

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