Thursday, February 01, 2007

Loss

Molly Ivins is dead at 62, from breast cancer. The NYT obit is here. I didn’t appreciate her brand of humor or her politics, but it’s a sad, sad thing to leave this life so early. There is one thing I admire about Ms. Ivins, however:

In 1976, her writing, which she said was often fueled by “truly impressive amounts of beer,” landed her a job at The New York Times.

I like that.

Meanwhile, over at Firedoglake the natives are busy canonizing the late Ms. Ivins. A few choice bits from the comments:

bigspoiledbaby says:
January 31st, 2007 at 5:10 pm

Goddammit, how much more must America lose and why does it seem that the fascists will survive to inherit our country?

St. Molly of Austin, rest in peace for a few days, then please….intercede for your beloved America!

enough says:
January 31st, 2007 at 5:28 pm

Oh Molly. We’ll miss you so very very much.

Go in peace. Your job was well done. We have our feet back on the ground now, we have the House and the Senate now. We have a decent chance to take our country back now. Thank you for fighting so hard to get us this far.

I’ll never forget you.

57 says:
January 31st, 2007 at 6:01 pm

Who says nothing good can come from Texas?
Molly has joined the firmament equal to or greater then Will Rogers.

More than a few folks provided their favorite Ivins quotes, or links to same. And up in the main body of the post, FDL celebrated Ivins by quoting some of her columns. I particularly liked this one:

The president of the United States does not have the sense God gave a duck — so it's up to us. You and me, Bubba.

I don't know why Bush is just standing there like a frozen rabbit, but it's time we found out. The fact is WE have to do something about it. This country is being torn apart by an evil and unnecessary war, and it has to be stopped NOW.

This war is being prosecuted in our names, with our money, with our blood, against our will. Polls consistently show that less than 30 percent of the people want to maintain current troop levels. It is obscene and wrong for the president to go against the people in this fashion. And it's doubly wrong for him to send 20,0000 (sic) more soldiers into this hellhole, as he reportedly will announce next week.

What happened to the nation that never tortured? The nation that wasn't supposed to start wars of choice? The nation that respected human rights and life? A nation that from the beginning was against tyranny? Where have we gone? How did we let these people take us there? How did we let them fool us?

It's a monstrous idea to put people in prison and keep them there. Since 1215, civil authorities have been obligated to tell people with what they are charged if they're arrested. This administration has done away with rights first enshrined in the Magna Carta nearly 800 years ago, and we've let them do it.

This will be a regular feature of mine, like an old-fashioned newspaper campaign. Every column, I'll write about this war until we find some way to end it. STOP IT NOW. BAM! Every day, we will review some factor we should have gotten right. . . .

A perfect illustration of why the FDLers love her and I don’t.

RIP, Molly.

It’s been a week today and I’m still off the evil weed cigarettes, still haven’t cracked the Partagas stash. It’s still very early days, but at least I haven’t done that backsliding thing immediately. Thank you, Nicorette.

So. Just by sheer coincidence (and thanks to the inimitable Lileks, he of the cigarillos taken under the gazebo in the summer), I came across a couple of items on smoking yesterday, wouldn’t you know. And they’ll continue to pop up just like clockwork for the foreseeable future, too. Life’s like that.

The first: Barack Obama is a smoker. No sh!t.

But Obama's semisecret weapon amounts to a double-edged sword. After all, what sort of successful Democratic politician smokes nowadays? Smoking is GOP old-school. House Minority Leader John Boehner regularly smokes cigarettes—which helps explain why he didn't hesitate to hand out tobacco-industry campaign checks on the House floor some years back. But Democrats shun the demon weed, at least in public. One of the first acts of House Speaker Nancy Pelosi was to ban smoking in the Speaker's Lobby, long the haunt of nicotine-crazed legislators. (The most famous Democratic tobacco addict doesn't even smoke. Former President Clinton likes to chomp on cigars—and, as the Starr report detailed, to occasionally use them for other purposes. Sometimes a cigar is not just a cigar.)

So, it's understandable that Obama, according to his aides, has been trying to kick the filthy habit as he gears up for a possible presidential campaign. The senator is refreshingly honest about his penchant for cigarettes: When asked about it by the Chicago Tribune in 2005, he replied, "The flesh is weak." When asked whether Obama still smokes, his spokesman, Tommy Vietor, hedged. "I haven't seen him for a month, so I don't know," Vietor said in late December. Vietor later declined to comment for this piece. (emphasis mine)

That Starr report link is pretty danged graphic, but I’m probably not telling you anything you don’t already know. Back to Barack… I really don’t give a damn if Barack, or anyone else, for that matter, smokes. I don’t think most Lefties are that tolerant, however. Because they know what’s good for you, even if you don’t…and they’re not shy about telling you, either. Still and even, I think this just has to be the most unique, if not bizarre, reason to quit I ever heard… “Well, I decided to run for President, so I guess I better quit.” Takes the cake, that does.

The second item is quite old, a Times Online (UK) item from March of 2005 titled “Up in Smoke.” (No, Sparky, not that Up In Smoke) It’s a bit of nostalgia, and Boy-Howdy, do I ever relate.

Not very long ago, the whole world smoked, no room was truly furnished unless it contained an ashtray, and all of waking life was measured out in cigarettes. Doctors smoked in their consultation rooms. Chefs smoked in restaurant kitchens. Mothers smoked while dandling their babies. Mechanics smoked in oil-flecked garages. Athletes smoked on the sidelines. Teachers smoked in classrooms. Patients smoked in hospital solariums. Television presenters smoked on camera. Shoppers smoked in the produce aisle at the supermarket. We smoked in the rear halves of airliners, in the balconies at movie theatres, between courses at formal dinners, on crowded dance floors while gyrating, on elevators despite the signs, on the subway if the hour was late enough. We smoked in the office and at the beach, in the waiting room and at the hair salon, in the art gallery and at the stadium. We smoked in bed: just after waking and just before sleep, after making love and sometimes during it. We often smoked without being aware we were smoking.

[…]

In Europe - actually, in most parts of the world other than the US - everyone was perpetually offering everyone else a smoke. Sit down at a table with three people and instantly out come four packs, an expertly gradated trio of ends poking out of a corner of each, and of course you have to take one, even if it’s a brand you abhor, just as they must take yours. To refuse would be an act of aggressively bad manners, like spurning the proffered tea in an Arab country or the bread and salt in Russia. In America, by contrast, prison yard customs prevailed. The pack was kept in a shirt pocket and one pill was drawn out at a time and inserted into the owner’s mouth. This was not viewed as a breach of etiquette since, it was reasoned, everyone you encountered would already have his or her own pack. Keeping your pack to yourself was a sterling example of the American ethos, like fencing your land and shooting trespassers and considering that basic societal benefits belong to those who can afford them. (Ed: gotta get that snark in, doncha?)

[…]

Bohemians and intellectuals predictably went for Camels or Luckies. Raymond Loewy’s Lucky Strike package was a triumph of design, even after the green background was excised in the Forties so that the dye could be saved for the war effort. In the Twenties it was stylish for cigarettes to allude to the Near East, hence Murads, Fatimas - and Camels, now the last survivor of the trend. (Philip Marlowe and Sam Spade smoked Fatimas.) Supposedly, there were dirty pictures concealed within the image of the camel on the package, but though I nodded yes when they were pointed out to me, I was never able to make them out. Both Camels and Luckies appealed to a certain purism, to a nostalgia for fedoras and speakeasies, to a peculiar impression that the brands were so elemental as to be something like produce, not really commercial brands at all. Nothing was better at conveying cosmopolitan style and culture in America than possession of a pack of Gauloises, or Gitanes. The aroma of black caporal tobacco was so distinctive you didn’t need to flash the pack to stand out in a crowd. (Ed: You sure didn’t. Gauloises and Gitanes stink, in a manner that’s simply beyond the stink of an ordinary cigarette and is, essentially, indescribable. Anyone who has ever been to Paris, or anywhere else in France, knows this for a fact. It begins when you ask yourself “What the Hell smells in here?”)

[…]

Anyway you can’t smoke any more. You can’t smoke anything - not low tar, not Sher Bidis, not all-natural additive-free tobacco in unbleached paper. It’s not yet illegal to possess the materials and implements for smoking, nor to consume them in the privacy of your own home, but it is increasingly difficult to smoke in public places, even outdoors, even in Europe. It’s true that a certain dark anti-glamour lingers outside the restaurant doorway, as you and people you will never meet again enjoy the rough comradeship of exile, puffing away in your thin jackets in February as if you were doing something heroic. It’s true that in a few Western settings - student life, for example, or among fashion models - smoking remains almost normative. It’s true that if you produce a pack of cigarettes in the right place and at the right time entire roomfuls of confirmed quitters will line up to bum one. And of course everyone knows at least one defiant and unapologetic smoker. In general, though, and especially in prosperous suburbs, you can expect passers by to glare at you with undisguised contempt, however discreetly you light up.

Barack, take note of that last paragraph. Or perhaps he’s already read the article. At any rate, every single thing in the above paragraphs is true, with the possible exception of smoking during sex. After sex? Most certainly. During? I don’t think so.

I’m old enough to remember the days when smoking was cool, the days when, as noted above, everyone did it. I learned “British Rules” on smoking when I lived in London. Not coincidentally, The Second Mrs. Pennington’s and my consumption rate doubled or tripled, even, when we went out on the town or down to the pub. We realized this almost immediately and developed subterfuges to counter the expense, which could be considerable. There were nights when the two of us would go through five packs of cigarettes, simply because all our mates were eager to accept our cigarettes when offered. I would routinely pass on the cigarettes offered in return, having never developed a fondness for Players Navy Cut or Rothschilds. We figured out what the Brits didn’t like (Trues, IIRC) and we’d both bring a pack of those along to offer around. Naturally, the offered smokes would be declined. Thus: money saved. I’m embarrassed to admit this, but it’s true.

Being the good Bohemian I aspired to be in my youth, I began with Luckies. I even did the James Dean thing by rolling them up in the sleeve of my tee shirt while on the job as a landscaping contractor’s assistant in high school. Yes, I began in high school. We all did the JD thing, and we all smoked Luckies, too. It was the thing to do. Over the years I moved from brand to brand, changing about every ten years or so. At the end (last week, ha!) I was smoking American Spirits, one of those “all-natural additive-free tobacco in unbleached paper” brands described above. Well, the paper is bleached, I think. And the damned things were still killing me, in spite of their “naturalness.” God willing, I’ll make it stick this time.

Even though I’ve excerpted from the article heavily, there’s much, much more. Here’s the closing graf:

Maybe there are ex-smokers out there who feel uncomplicated relief at having quit. I doubt there are many, however. Your cigarette was a friend - the sort of friend parents and teachers warned you against, who would lead you down dark alleys and leave you holding the evidence when things went wrong - but a friend nevertheless. It’s terribly sad that you can’t enjoy a smoke now and again without tumbling into the whirlpool of perdition, the way you can take a glass of spirits on the weekend with no danger that by Monday you will end up filtering the shoe polish after exhausting the cooking sherry. But just as an alcoholic remains an alcoholic even after decades of abstinence, so a smoker is a sinner forever after. You have breathed fire. You have experienced one of the deepest satisfactions of life: the first cigarette of the day in tandem with the first cup of coffee. (Ed: Or the two glowing cigs in the dark after wild, wild sex!) You have felt that knee-trembling rush upon taking the first drag after suffering an enforced separation from cigarettes - after a trip to the moon, for example. Your friend has come running to your side in the worst moments, and has been there to cheer you on in the best. You have tasted of the fruit of good and evil. Now that you have chosen the path of righteousness, can it be that the decision is fixed and irrevocable? Is it possible that smoking will be legislated or taxed out of existence? Is it possible that the Earth will be wiped so clean of tobacco that, like opium, it will be difficult to find without undertaking hazardous journeys in troubled regions? Is it possible that you will never again be able to enjoy the comfort of knowing that you have traded five minutes of life for five minutes of serenity? We may all have stopped smoking, but we continue to burn.

If you’re a smoker, or even an ex-smoker who doesn’t mind a trip back to Former Happy Days, go have a read. And smoke ‘em if ya got ‘em! Uh, no. Don’t.

Today’s Pic: “Support the Troops!” (as long as they… bring money.)
Port Canaveral, FL. Commissioning week for the USS Mason, March 2003.

12 comments:

  1. I only read a few of Ms. Ivans editorials. I have to admit that she caused a bubble of laughter to erupt by calling Gov. Perry "Mr. Goodhair".

    Dad smoked Camels every day of his adult life - oh so macho. While at MD Anderson getting cancer treatment there was a group of smokers hanging outside in the courtyard - they became good frineds. Even when he was dieing, Mom would hold the cigarette to his lips and say, "It helps him to relax." I guess she understood his need, being an ex-smoker herself. I don't think I ever understood.

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  2. I used to love Molly Ivins back in the day. Either I changed, or she became more shrill and less fun as time when on. I'm sure her being ill, didn't help. The old style of political humor has changed into a sort of messianic desperation with some, I'm afraid.

    So far, so good, Buck!

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  3. I grew up surrounded by smoke (all family but me!). I used to think it was a cool thing to do, until I tried a puff. Cured. Instantly.

    In the Navy, I liked how the flight jacket had a pouch for cigarettes, on the left shoulder. I kept a pack of Luckies or Camel, non-filtered, for my friends asking to bum a smoke. It was fun watching someone who was desperate for a smoke, gulp, and reluctantly accept MY brand!

    My wife thinks that I am nuts, I enjoy watching the old cigarette commercials on You Tube. Despite the fact that I completely hate cigarettes, doesn't mean that I hate what was once a big part of our culture. But I do hate what tobacco has done to my Mom.

    Tobacco is a funny thing. It can bind people instantly, with shared moments. It can help short circuit the chain of command, Junior's being able to ask Senior's for advice or help without going through the bureaucracy. Tobacco can give enjoyment and suffering.

    I prefer the tobacco of the commercials, from the sixties. Full of life, and flavor. Not the realities of the 21st Century.

    Where is the Marlboro Man? We could use that fellow, today!

    Good luck on kicking that addiction, Buck!

    P.S. I have dropped my beer habit. Been three weeks. The keg is still 3/4 full, but alone. In the bar. For guests.

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  4. Lou said: I only read a few of Ms. Ivans editorials. I have to admit that she caused a bubble of laughter...

    I'll admit to laughing at Ivins from time to time, as well. She most definitely could turn a phrase in that time-honored, down-home Texas manner. But most often she just pissed me off.

    Bec said: used to love Molly Ivins back in the day. Either I changed, or she became more shrill and less fun as time when on.

    A combination of the two, I'd wager, but she did become a lot more shrill as time wore on. BDS tends to affect one that way.

    dc said: My wife thinks that I am nuts, I enjoy watching the old cigarette commercials on You Tube.

    and

    I prefer the tobacco of the commercials, from the sixties. Full of life, and flavor. Not the realities of the 21st Century.

    Ah... me, too!! Short war story: way back in the day when ciggie commercials were first outlawed, my local Far East Network affiliate at Wakkanai Air Station (in extreme northern Japan) used to hold an annual fund-raiser, not unlike PBS does today. Part of the fund-raiser was the auctioning off of various and sundry taped TV programs, to be aired if the funding threshold was met. The perpetual winners? Cigarette commericals. No kidding.

    And, like you, I prefer the romanticized "Marlboro Man" over the image of a wheezing, coughing, gasping-for-breath end of life scenario. Which was the fate of the guy who played the Marlboro Man in all those ads.

    None of my business, dc, but why have you dropped the beer? Some things in life are sacred!! :-)

    Thanks for the words of encouragement, all y'all!

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  5. I used to live in Melbourne, FL. Close to Port Canaveral. Was in my high school Air Force JROTC there and was a member of Rifle Team. Used to go to Patrick AFB for team meets (and Burger King, play pool and bowling).

    I think I have the Cheech and Chong "Up in Smoke" movie around here somewhere. Hubby enjoys those. LOL!

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  6. Knowing how much I love to look things up, Buck said, BDS tends to affect one that way.

    BDS? Ohhhh, now I understand. :-)

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  7. Jenny said: I used to live in Melbourne, FL. ... I think I have the Cheech and Chong "Up in Smoke" movie around here somewhere. Hubby enjoys those. LOL!

    Wow, Jenny, you've been around the block a lot, too! Your husband and I have that lil thing in common, too. I don't own the movie, but I lost count of the number of times I paid to see it, back in the day...

    Bec said: BDS? Ohhhh, now I understand. :-)

    I've used that so many times I thought folks would get it. "Never assume anything..." as they say! :-)

    Thanks for the link, Bec. Krauthammer defines BDS better than anyone!

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  8. Tonnage. Putting on lots of ballast. 5'8" 215 lbs.

    I have lost 11 pounds in the past three weeeks, without dieting. Just a little exercise and staying off beer. God I miss it.... Down to 204 and hope to get to 190.

    I just need to stop pounding down 6 or 7 mugs of Sierra Nevada at each sitting. Maybe do THAT on Saturdays, only.

    Check out all the great commercials on You Tube. Both beer and Cigarettes.

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  9. "Who says nothing good can come from Texas?
    Molly has joined the firmament equal to or greater then Will Rogers."

    Other than the mis-spelled word, does this quote seem to say that Will Rogers is from Texas? Just want to point out that Will was an Okie.

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  10. Lou said: Other than the mis-spelled word, does this quote seem to say that Will Rogers is from Texas? Just want to point out that Will was an Okie.

    Lou...these are moonbats. You don't expect them to be accurate, now, do you?

    :-)

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  11. dc said: Tonnage. Putting on lots of ballast. 5'8" 215 lbs.

    I have lost 11 pounds in the past three weeeks, without dieting. Just a little exercise and staying off beer. God I miss it.... Down to 204 and hope to get to 190.

    I just need to stop pounding down 6 or 7 mugs of Sierra Nevada at each sitting. Maybe do THAT on Saturdays, only.


    Ah. Got it! Good luck, you're making progress! And you can look forward to Saturdays! :-)

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  12. Lou, "Just want to point out that Will was an Okie."
    Good for you! I missed that the first time around. Poor Will was proud of his heritage and wouldn't have taken kindly to that, I'm sure. :)

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Just be polite... that's all I ask.