Yeah, sure I miss smoking. It's like my days are these huge blocks of unpunctuated, unindented text. And you really get a true outsider's view of your own conditioning, too: what should you be doing ten minutes or so after a meal? Didn't I just finish up a few chores and it's time to sit down and ---ahh, crap. It's always going to be hard, mate. One day at a time, recovering alcoholic kind of stuff, you know. I never knew my Daddy as an active smoker, but I only knew him as a recovering one. There was always a toothpick in his mouth or a half-dozen within reach. He had quit cold turkey with his partner in the Texas Highway Patrol, a guy called Al Chambers. It seems like Al was older than Daddy, but it must have been around the time that Daddy turned 30 that they were riding along and Al challenged him to quit smoking ---cold turkey. As I recall the tale, Al grabbed Daddy's Zippo and smokes and tossed them out the window of their patrol car and Daddy did the same to Al's. I think they must have thrived off of the competition. But it was a done deal before I ever came along in '69 because I never once saw my Daddy smoke.
Travelling in Europe, you can't help but be struck by how complete tobacco's influence is there. Italians practically smoke in church. They would never tolerate the kind of restrictions you see in a town like Austin, where you can't even smoke in bars until after noon, if then. I don't know. Keep on banning it and maybe people will wise up.
But, here's someting for my lefty friends to consider: you're always beefing about how these international supercongolmerates are taking over the world and destroying jobs and basically returning us to serfdom and villainy and, yet, without the slightest sense of irony, you willingly pay forty, fifty, a hundred bucks a month to multibillion-dollar companies like RJR and Phillip Morris to keep you on a leash. They've got you "sitting bitch" and lovin' it. The revolution starts at home, asshole. I done kicked the redcoats out.