Three Confessions for Thursday
I’ve been smoking too much. Normally I’m that rare breed known as the “social smoker.” Like social drinkers and drug users, social smokers can go for weeks without a cigarette, but when that special moment comes, we start jonesing for nicotine as though we’ve smoked three packs of Luckies a day for the last 50 years. In my case, that “special moment” is when I’m having a drink. So a couple of times a week, I’ll have a few cigarettes, and that’s it. I usually go through a pack or two a month. I haven’t been a “normal” smoker for over 10 years. So why am I suddenly craving my beloved American Spirits throughout the goddamn day?
I survive by not thinking about things. I mean, I’ve always considered myself the curious type, and the years I spent in grad school are among the happiest in my life–mostly because of the intellectual stimulation they afforded me. But when it comes to other things, daily things–like the upcoming election, for instance–I simply refuse to focus. Somewhere deep inside I’ve got an optimist streak that convinces me that whatever happens, things’ll turn out all right. It’s kinda like that quote from the Edie Sedgewick biography that The Ginger Man used to use in their ads: “And when the bills would mount up, she’d stuff them all into a big envelope and take a dozen people to The Ginger Man for drinks.” Yeah, it’s irresponsible, but I guess that’s just the way I am….
I hate buying clothes. Just ask Jonno. Practically all the clothes I wear to work are his. All the dress clothes in our closet are his. Even the underwear and socks–his. Bottom line: I hate spending money on things that wear out so quickly–either because they get washed and faded and ugly or because I get tired of wearing them. This applies especially to shoes. I much prefer hitting Goodwill a couple of times a year at $50 a pop and replentishing my supply of t-shirt and jeans.
Oh, yeah, a couple of other things:
- Despite what Camille Paglia et al. may say, Foucault rocks.
- Hello to the sweet NYC girls who flagged me down last night. I’m looking forward to the Decadence Ball on Saturday.
- Happy birthday, Mom.
sturtle [dot] com 