The Last Smoke

It had been a very long time since I last smoked a cigarette. Over a decade in fact. I was never much of a huge smoker--a half a pack of day at my worst--but I loved it. I loved the ritual. The smell of the tobacco just before the flame torches it. I loved how the hot smoke would mix in my mouth on cold days. I loved how it afforded me a small break from the world. But I also knew that it was not good for me and that I needed to stop. So not more than a year out of college, I found myself sitting across the table from a cute girl, on a blind date orchestrated by my sister, talking about smoking. Or rather, my intent to someday quit smoking.

"Why don’t you quit right now?" she asked.

Because I was more interested in trying to impress a girl that I wanted to sleep with than anything else, I slid my pack of cigarettes across the table. And that was it. I never did get the girl into my bed, but I never went back to smoking either.

After that twitchy first smoke-free month was behind me, I actually found it pretty easy to quit. My willpower was strong. It also helped that California had just banned smoking in bars, so a layer of temptation had been removed in a stroke of perfect timing.

While I didn't crave it all of the time, every once in a while I would miss smoking. Sometimes I would walk past somebody smoking and I would get a hit of tobacco that just smelled good to me.

It had been a very long time since I'd even thought of smoking a cigarette when I found myself craving one while I was alone on a road trip. There was some song lyric about smoking and it hit me. I found myself pulling into a gas station and before I really knew what I was doing, I had bought a pack. I automatically tapped the pack, unwrapped the cellophane and tapped out a cigarette, just like I used to. The whole thing felt weird that it was so familiar.

The cigarette felt heavier than I remembered. Thicker. I put one end in my mouth and held the flame to the other. I listened for the crackle of the paper and tobacco catching, inhaled, and immediately fell into a massive choking fit While the actions of lighting a cigarette might have felt familiar, my body was not used to the toxic smoke and was not happy. I tried to take another drag, but my lungs were rejecting everything about it. This was not the pleasurable experience I once had. This was torture.

I crushed out the cigarette and threw the rest of the pack away. I didn't like the coughing. I didn't like the smoke. I didn't like anything about the cigarette. As much as I used to love smoking, it was clear at that moment as it had been when I first quit that I am no longer a smoker. Sometimes the body is smarter than the mind and my body knows that my smoking days are very much behind me.

My Name is Daddy Geek Boy and I Am An Addict

Prez-Elect Obama is conflicted about having to give up his Blackberry when he’s sworn into office in January. As a dedicated Blackberry user for years, I say let it go. Yes, it can be argued that the Blackberry has helped us increase our productivity. But at what cost? To me, the ability to write and respond to emails at 1am is not a societal advance. And I’d rather not be subjected to any more meals where I sit in silence while my dining companions have their heads down, clicking away to somebody else.

It’s not that I’m anti-technology. I love me some gadgets. There are many amazing things to geek out about on my Blackberry. I can check and update my Facebook status on the go. I always have access to IMdB (which comes in handy to quickly settle inevitable movie fanboy debates). Brick Breaker is a good time killer since I’m compulsively early. Google Maps has saved my ass more times than Superman has rescued Lois Lane. But owning a Blackberry means that you will NEVER BE ABLE TO STOP CHECKING YOUR EMAIL!

It’s 11pm on a Saturday night and I’m up doing the usual, watching cartoons on YouTube, when out of the corner of my eye I see the red light on my Blackberry blinking. I try to resist but I am rendered powerless. I know that there isn’t a single thing that demands my attention at this late hour on a weekend, yet like a moth to a flame, I have no free will and am compelled to pick up the device. As soon as I do, I am jerked out of one of my few relaxing weekend moments and thrust into work.

Also, the keyboard on a Blackberry is impossible to lock. Nevermind that unlocking mine requires pressing a button on the top to take it out of standby mode, followed by hitting two different keys in sequential order, when the phone is placed in my pocket it’s simply a matter of time before the damn thing unlocks and I end up accidentally calling Grandma. To combat this, I have to constantly take the Blackberry out of my pocket to check that it’s still locked. This either causes people to think that I am one of those Blackberry junkies who can’t go for 10 minutes without checking my email. Or while making sure it’s locked, I will inadvertently see the red flashing beacon of doom and be forced to check it, confirming to my friends that I am indeed a Blackberry junkie who can’t go for 10 minutes without checking my email. I am convinced that the only reason why they don’t just make a keyboard lock switch, like they have on an iPod, is because the people who make Blackberries are malicious bastards who feed off of our suffering.

So Mr. Soon-To-Be President, I applaud that you’re a tech-savvy guy and am really glad you want to be the first president who has a computer in the Oval Office, but you are being given the sacred key to the Blackberry handcuffs. I suggest you use it and never look back.