I know. Lung cancer. Emphysema. Stained teeth. Smoky-breath. Nicotine-stained fingers. You’re absolutely right (hanging head in shame)…
Now that we have that out of the way, I’d like to invite all the Smoking Dopers out there to discuss what we love about smoking. How about:
That first cigarette you have after your first cup of coffee in the morning. See Peter Falk’s eloquent recitation on this in the film “Wings of Desire.”
That heated rush of smoke into your lungs after a great meal, the exquisite, temporary “high” as the tobacco serves to reinforce what a great meal you just had.
Torgo - I’m having a hard time typing here - I’m shit-faced after a small New Year’s party, but i have to agree with you -I’m a smoker and I love it. First cig in the morning with a cup of coffee and reading the Washington Post - great. Cig afer a nice meal. A cig after anything. I don’t want any bullshit lectures from the anti-smoking folks. My choice. One of these days I’ll quit, but for now – LIGHT UP! (aND i finally found a lighter without the freakin’ safety mechanism.)
The whole destructive, seductive package. The earthy smell when you open a new pack, the smooth feel of the cigarette in your fingers, the hiss and spark as the flame hits the tobacco…
And then there’s that first smooth drag of smoke; accompanied by a caress of coffee or a fine drink it’s sublime, but it’s just so awfully fine just on its own.
The soothing hit when the nicotine hits the bloodstream and brain; contradictory instant calmness and alertness. The security of the whole ritual, tap off the ash, deep drag and knowing there’s a whole pack snuggled right in the pocket.
Yeah, it’s hellacious and stupid and self destructive. It’s also fully, seductively addictive. It’s gotta be love, to be so dependent and resentful at the same time.
Maybe I’ll quit next year. (Hell, I’ve quit every year so far; why buck the trend?)
We’re moving in a month or two, and I’ve promised not to smoke in the new house. I’ll miss it.
I’ll miss watching the smoke curl/swirl/rise in the soft blue light of the televsion. I’ll miss the soft ching,ching when I tap into my crystal ashtray. I’ll miss that lovely *full * feeling in my lungs when I inhale, and whoosh of the smoke as I exhale. I’ll miss the silent comradery of fellow smokers who banished to the outside, huddling beside the building. And most of all, I think I’ll miss the great conversations I’ve had with fellow smokers that have started with “Can I borrow your lighter?”
