You Tell Em' Steve!

If you recall, if you have read, a few blogs back, I mentioned that I was working through, rather joyously, Steve Martin's autobiography. Well, I actually finished it, a rare triumph for me these days. In it he recalled two of his best jokes, jokes that I actually remembered from my childhood even. The first one hit a nerve, or rather resonated, inspired, something...here is goes. "A fella came up to me in a club and said, "Do you mind if I smoke?". Steve replied, "Of course not, do you mind if I fart?"

I tried to go buy some cereal and some milk the other day. Yes, these days I am really pushing the culinary envelope: will it be Capn' Crunch today, and which of the three types should I pursue? (further, shouldn't he have been promoted to the rank of admiral by now?). Back to the quest! I tried to find my cereal and its accoutrements, so I traveled to every store in my little town. Both of them had two things in common. They each had a poor selection of damaged goods...literally, and each cashier/register check-out area had a happy worker surrounded by a cloud of smoke, a big ash-tray full of stale and stinking cigarette butts, and a seemingly forgotten, burning, cigarette! Now I am all for people's rights, even to kill themselves with cigarettes. I, in fact, worked toward that lofty goal for many years though , saints be praised, I have been free from the dreaded things for years now. Though I do find it completely ridiculous that someone should be subjected to second, third, fourth or even 23rd hand smoke if they don't want to be so subjected! And I find myself growing increasingly intolerant of this. I hope I'm not falling, or regressing, into curmudgeonism

When I see or even know of a parent or other adult smoking near, anywhere near, a child, this simple, country, preacher's blood starts-a-boilin'! If I see a child in a car with a smoking smoker, I go nuclear (officially back to correct pronunciation in 32 or so days). If the windows of the car are shut, detonation is imminent! And anyone with child, as in with child, who smokes is as stupid as stupid is...and does. Stupid is as stupid does. It is what it is.

A restaurant, for example, should be free from smoke, completely, as should other public places. And folks, that means the doorways too! What's the real point of a smoke-free joint (no, that's not oxymoronic) if one is breathing and saturated with smoke on the way in, and on the way out? And for the love of God and cancer-free lungs, a 'smoking' and 'non-smoking' section DOES NOT WORK!!! Smoke drifts. It is smoke! I should certainly hope, and I remain optomistic, that the post office or banks or shops of my little berg don't have the constant guard of the eternal Winston 100 flame! It's not 1956, after all. Nor is it my grandmother's kitchen any year before 1995. Well, that may just be the problem. Some places and people advance through time, and some refuse to. I would say though, to those fighting the good fight against the future, "save your strength". The future will win. We'll even be happy to have you in the present.

This is not a p.s.a. against smoking: teen, pregnant, or otherwise. And I know that I should be much more patient and forgiving, in every aspect of my life. Though I am human. I am prone to get pissed, on occasion, and I have that right. So do you. I simply felt that it is what I should write about this week. Fittingly enough, I needed to vent.


Of course, I think folks should forever be allowed to keep cigarettes burning in every good bar in God's green earth for all eternity. Not just for Humphrey Bogart-esque, tres cool, cinematic, effect either.
There is just something about smoking and drinking--together. They go together like you know, peas and carrots, The Crimson Tide and winning, even Bogart and Bacall! (Feel free to substitute Bergman for Bacall). Today is Keith Richards birthday by the way. And while I would simultaneously love and hate to be his dentist (a great amount of business, though a nasty business I would imagine it to be!), or his 'falsies' cleaner, Keith even gives Bogey himself a run for the money when it comes to being cool with a stogey. Sir Keith has nearly turned his fag (the British colloquialism for cigarettes...what did you think I meant?) into a musical instrument!

If this seems hypocritical, well, so be it. I used to smoke. I saw the absurdity of it, not to mention I smelled and breathed the absurdity of it, and I stopped. It's plain common sense.
I stopped. Cold. Turkey. I stopped cold turkey years ago. I want you to stop. And while I want you to stop, because I care about you and others, not because of the incredible irritation, I would nearly fight for your right to smoke if you want to...so long as it doesn't infect me or anyone else. Let your cries of hypocrite ring out! I'll hear them with cleaner lungs and better smelling clothes. Forgive me--everybody's got to have somebody to look down on. (I think that was Kristofferson?) But please know, I don't look down on smokers. Not at all. I just hate that nasty smoke coming of their cigarettes. (Kristofferson did recently say something I love. He quipped, "God bless America. And God bless the others outside our borders." He prefaced that by saying "God bless Obama". Even in 2008, that kind of talk is nothing short of revolutionary. Rock on K-rok!)

Smoking and drinking were the great tandem love of my life for many years. MA gave me a new love, back some 15 or so years ago. And thanks to the incredible regenerative spirit of our bodies, I have new lungs. Though yes, I enjoyed a libation or two while imbibing Carolina's finest back in 'the day'. And when I say I enjoyed it, I mean to tell you, I enjoyed it bud! I enjoyed these peccadillos bigger, better, harder, faster, louder, longer than most people ever will, and probably more than you would believe! I don' say this to boast, it's certainly nothing to boast about. In fact, it was an awful sight and downright shameful. Though it ain't the end of the world either. We live, we learn. The key is to make sure we do both as best we can. Anyway, God regularly thrives on changing people's lives and dwells in the impossible. Marlboro and Budweiser notwithstanding, God has done the impossible and changed my life. And I am the better for it.

Ahhh, the glory days. Long gone the days of rousing, carousing, smoking and drinking. Long gone are the hangovers--saints be praised...again! Though what is it I actually do these days? Oh yes. O Capn', my Capn'! Cereal and milk. Milk and cereal. Well, we all have our vices.

Ahoy mateys!
MMS~


(Back to 'Tales From New York City" next week. And to hold your interest over, here's the other funny from Steve, the long-crowned (by me) king of funny...
Early in The Jerk (Universal, 1979), our antagonist, Navin Johnson, is found hitch-hiking his way to St Louis. And though he is mere miles from his house, a 'fer piece' from St Louis, he gets a potential hitch -hiker picker-upper. The generous fella, taking notice of Navin's sign, pulls over and asks him, "St. Louis?". Dear Navin looks back with the curiosity and confusion of a little, lost puppy and replies, "no. Navin Johnson." adieu.