From Hawkeye My Life as a Weapon
© Marvel Comics
Sunday, January 25, 2015
Friday, May 2, 2014
3 2 1 Contact
(Outline of entry written long ago -- to be sorted into story someday...)
first news of having to wear glasses - cried
new glasses -- hottest girl said - professor person
high school -- dad suggested contacts
rigid gas permeable, always dried up, slipped off iris
smoking, hanging out in smoke filled bars regularly
smoking in car, no AC, windows always down
impossible to wear.
Luckily John Lennon specs came into fashion. Then later chop-top horned rims.
Now no smoking, AC in car, smoking outlawed indoors, contact tech developed allowing me to qualify for soft contacts.
first news of having to wear glasses - cried
new glasses -- hottest girl said - professor person
high school -- dad suggested contacts
rigid gas permeable, always dried up, slipped off iris
smoking, hanging out in smoke filled bars regularly
smoking in car, no AC, windows always down
impossible to wear.
Luckily John Lennon specs came into fashion. Then later chop-top horned rims.
Now no smoking, AC in car, smoking outlawed indoors, contact tech developed allowing me to qualify for soft contacts.
Moving out
Over the years I have seen some people who graduated from the same university I did succeed in careers in the same basic field I work in.
I admire them not only for their talent and discipline, but some of the choices they made early on.
These people did not immediately go to work for a big company or find immediate success as a freelancer.
They remained living at home with their parents. Not as lazy freeloaders, but rather people committed to and honing their craft and building their own thing. In the case of illustrators, they weren't necessarily making money yet, but they were continuing to build their skills and portfolios. The goal of this is that they could do what they wanted to do really well and, therefore, create something of quality that people may seek out and pay for.
They weren't wasting so many hours of a day working some entry level position. But the hours of hard work on their artwork is real and more significant in the long term.
I sometimes feel that I could have done this for a while; that I moved out too soon. Age-wise, it was high time, but career-wise, definitely premature.
If you still live with your parents after college, and "partying" is your primary pastime, then, yeah, it's a problem; you should be prompted from the nest. But if the hours you are spending at home, you are quietly laboring over something like artwork, many parents will understand. There may be a bigger payoff in the long run, rather than jumping into a job and scraping to pay rent in a crappy apartment, and selling all your hours to The Man for pennies on the dollar.
Well, in my case, who knows? Looking back, I was smoking more and more cigarettes. I couldn't do so at home. I really didn't want my folks to see me smoke. I would stay out later at night, sometimes just smoking in my car in a parking lot or a 24 hour restaurant.
I got an offer to rent a room in house a friend was renting. It was a good deal. I still could barely afford it, but I made the leap. The matriarch of the house was a heavy smoker, so there would be no stipulations as far as who or how many people could simultaneously chain smoke for how long and which room.
I feel like I needed to be able to smoke so badly that I blew what could have been an important foundational chapter for me by my nicotine addiction.
I admire them not only for their talent and discipline, but some of the choices they made early on.
These people did not immediately go to work for a big company or find immediate success as a freelancer.
They remained living at home with their parents. Not as lazy freeloaders, but rather people committed to and honing their craft and building their own thing. In the case of illustrators, they weren't necessarily making money yet, but they were continuing to build their skills and portfolios. The goal of this is that they could do what they wanted to do really well and, therefore, create something of quality that people may seek out and pay for.
They weren't wasting so many hours of a day working some entry level position. But the hours of hard work on their artwork is real and more significant in the long term.
I sometimes feel that I could have done this for a while; that I moved out too soon. Age-wise, it was high time, but career-wise, definitely premature.
If you still live with your parents after college, and "partying" is your primary pastime, then, yeah, it's a problem; you should be prompted from the nest. But if the hours you are spending at home, you are quietly laboring over something like artwork, many parents will understand. There may be a bigger payoff in the long run, rather than jumping into a job and scraping to pay rent in a crappy apartment, and selling all your hours to The Man for pennies on the dollar.
Well, in my case, who knows? Looking back, I was smoking more and more cigarettes. I couldn't do so at home. I really didn't want my folks to see me smoke. I would stay out later at night, sometimes just smoking in my car in a parking lot or a 24 hour restaurant.
I got an offer to rent a room in house a friend was renting. It was a good deal. I still could barely afford it, but I made the leap. The matriarch of the house was a heavy smoker, so there would be no stipulations as far as who or how many people could simultaneously chain smoke for how long and which room.
I feel like I needed to be able to smoke so badly that I blew what could have been an important foundational chapter for me by my nicotine addiction.
Many stories, same ending
Last weekend, I spent a lot of time with an old friend who still smokes.
(edit: this post is a draft consisting of only the above sentence. At this point, I don't remember which story I was going to tell. No matter what events transpire, the following is part of the ending of each.)
The next day, my throat was itchy/scratchy, slight difficulty breathing with faint wheezing. And my clothing and hair reeked of cigarette smoke you could almost see. If I didn't wash my hair before going to bed, I'd have to change the pillow case the next morning. Even early retirement/replacement of the pillow itself would be considered.
(edit: this post is a draft consisting of only the above sentence. At this point, I don't remember which story I was going to tell. No matter what events transpire, the following is part of the ending of each.)
The next day, my throat was itchy/scratchy, slight difficulty breathing with faint wheezing. And my clothing and hair reeked of cigarette smoke you could almost see. If I didn't wash my hair before going to bed, I'd have to change the pillow case the next morning. Even early retirement/replacement of the pillow itself would be considered.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Yesterday
Yesterday, on my way home from work, an idea popped into my head.
I thought about stopping off at a convenience store and picking up a pack of the good ol' wide lights.
It was sunny, but not too hot. The idea of finding some spot in a parking lot with a minimal amount of shade, adjusting the seat back a bit, and lighting up sounded like just the thing I needed; the solution to all my worries.
Just kicking back there smoking a cigarette or five, daydreaming away an hour or so.
Man....
But then I realized how f*cking disgusting smoking is, and how it fucked me over for so god d*mned many years, and got some heart clogging fast food instead.
It's nice to not having much of anything to post here anymore...or rather, lately.
I thought about stopping off at a convenience store and picking up a pack of the good ol' wide lights.
It was sunny, but not too hot. The idea of finding some spot in a parking lot with a minimal amount of shade, adjusting the seat back a bit, and lighting up sounded like just the thing I needed; the solution to all my worries.
Just kicking back there smoking a cigarette or five, daydreaming away an hour or so.
Man....
But then I realized how f*cking disgusting smoking is, and how it fucked me over for so god d*mned many years, and got some heart clogging fast food instead.
It's nice to not having much of anything to post here anymore...or rather, lately.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Stacy Keach: Cocaine vs. Nicotine
Stacy Keach was the guest for an extensive interview on The Adam Carolla Show today.
In going through his life and career, the conversation naturally moved toward Keach's well known cocaine bust at Heathrow Airport in 1984.
He said that his cocaine addiction at that time was to the point that he is convinced that getting busted may very well have saved his life.
In prison, he was forced into unaided detoxification. He went from doing cocaine all day/every day/night to complete abstinence.
He was also a heavy cigarette smoker.
When asked how painful it was to quit cocaine cold-turkey, he said it wasn't that bad. It was being deprived of cigarettes that was excruciating. Giving up cocaine was easy for him, compared to quitting smoking.
In going through his life and career, the conversation naturally moved toward Keach's well known cocaine bust at Heathrow Airport in 1984.
He said that his cocaine addiction at that time was to the point that he is convinced that getting busted may very well have saved his life.
In prison, he was forced into unaided detoxification. He went from doing cocaine all day/every day/night to complete abstinence.
He was also a heavy cigarette smoker.
When asked how painful it was to quit cocaine cold-turkey, he said it wasn't that bad. It was being deprived of cigarettes that was excruciating. Giving up cocaine was easy for him, compared to quitting smoking.
Monday, February 14, 2011
2 YEAR ANNIVERSARY
I just hit the 2 year mark -- my 2nd Anniversary as a Non-Smoker. Yay, me!
If I can do it, you can do it, motherf*ckers!
Wish me luck in year 3 and beyond.
It definitely gets easier after the excruciating hell of withdrawal. And easier still after the first year. But, that demon is always there, waiting in the wings. He's smirking and tapping his foot; just waiting for any sign of weakness when he can step in and shove his dick in my mouth (his dick being a lit cigarette).
If I can do it, you can do it, motherf*ckers!
Wish me luck in year 3 and beyond.
It definitely gets easier after the excruciating hell of withdrawal. And easier still after the first year. But, that demon is always there, waiting in the wings. He's smirking and tapping his foot; just waiting for any sign of weakness when he can step in and shove his dick in my mouth (his dick being a lit cigarette).
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