all hallows

Five years ago on Halloween, the Wiccan New Year, I stopped smoking.
Boom.
Gone.
Done.
And this year?

no comments

So what am I doing this for, my health?
Oh, right. . .

the house of no regrets

You wanna smoke? Smoke.
You wanna drink? Drink.
You wanna take drugs? Go for it.
You wanna have sex with people you shouldn't be having sex with? Please do.
    Perhaps to counteract my puritanical streak, I have always prided myself on providing The House of No Regrets, aka a den of iniquity, for my friends and family. The hostess with the mostess. Excess is us.
    So, when I quit smoking, like five years ago on Halloween, and even after I could have become one of those annoying people who waves a hand in front of their face when someone nearby is smoking, I still allowed people to smoke in my house and tried to refrain from waving the hand. And when I do quit drinking, on those increasingly frequent occasions, I still offer people alcohol, if I have it around.
    Alas, I little like to be construed a prude.

the main reason why

I confess: I am a Becksaholic.
      Many of you have seen me with this bottle in my hand. At one point my daughter calculated how much money I spent on this beverage per year, but I don't even want to think about it.
      On the other hand, thanks to beer, I have not had recourse to analgesics, antidepressants, antianxiety medications, anesthesias, painkillers, cigarettes, marijuana, methamphetamines or frontal lobotomies (reference the old joke). Beer goes well with summer, books, conversation and music. Beer has made me tolerant, generous and more capable of going with the flow than nature intended.
      It has also made me stupid, forgetful, blunt and fat.
      I still like it, though, especially Becks.

contrariness*

Why I can't stop?
Too many people urging me to.

*aka pigheadedness

no hope

I am so sorry, my sad and desperate people, that I cannot provide the magic bolus that will prevent you from indulging in your most destructive habits.
Still searching myself. . .

a dream

A surf champion romanced me, then sat me down and gave me a magic elixir of fruit juices and sunflower seeds.
   "Drink this," he said, "and you will no longer want to drink."
   He put the glass in my hand.  "Go over to that garden and meditate while slowly sipping," he said.

   Why I can't stop: In the dream, I was smoking.

poor man's bloody mary

This is the third and last post about Bloody Marys, I promise. Yesterday, being Monday with no crossword puzzle (finished, alas), I succumbed to another good reason not to quit drinking. Known in Mexico as a michelada, the drink is made with very cold beer and additions like salt, lime, hot sauce and tomato juice. It is an excellent beverage on a hot day.
   OK, I admit it wasn't hot yesterday. This is how you know I should stop drinking.
   Lately, beer companies such as Anheuser- Busch have been marketing these drinks to Mexicans in the U.S. I have been able to find one product, called Chelada, which combines Bud with Clamato juice, in Missouri, Alabama and Rhode Island. There doesn't seem to be a big call for it on the Upper White Side of New York or on this isla pequinita. In fact, almost everyone I know thinks it is revolting. I mix my own.

heirloom tomatoes

This is my recipe for the best Bloody Mary ever. It is one of the best reasons I know to not stop drinking.
Take an heirloom tomato like a Brandywine or Cherokee Black and slice it up on a plate. Salt and pepper well and let macerate for a few hours. Pour off the tomato water into a glass and put it in the refrigerator. Eat the tomato.
At cocktail hour, mix the tomato water in a short glass with vodka and add a lot of ice. Garnish with basil if you like. You will like.

sunday times

It's always something. Check out my post the sunday papers from 2005, and just sub out "pour a Bloody Mary" for "light a cigarette." (Granted, I don't have the Metro and City sections here, but I do have high winds.) It seems I've just switched out addictions. What happens when there is no more Sunday New York Times newspaper? Then I'm left jonesing for the crossword?

nasty habits

This blog is about the obsession to keep doing something you know is bad for you and finding lame reasons to keep doing it. People call this addiction; I call it a pathetic lack of willpower.
When you're young, you believe you can keep smoking or drinking with impunity, but once you attain the age of reason—say, 40—you know this is not so. The cough won't quit, the metabolism can't keep up, and people you know have died from overindulgence.
Then you start with the "just one."
Right.
This is what happens next.