I know what you’re thinking – lung cancer, emphysema, early death, blah, blah, blah. Spare me the scare tactics. Listen people, our bodies are all in a state of gradual degeneration, tobacco or no. Besides, I know lots of old people who smoke and are still alive. Dead people don’t cough like that and they sure can’t talk through those Stephen Hawking voice boxes.

So I guess you’re wondering why I’m going to start smoking. It’s just that we’ve had lots of crazy stuff happening in our lives over the last couple of months – the kind of stuff that often leaves you in that odd state of physical and mental stress that you can’t really find an expression for. That’s a frustrating place to be, and I just started noticing that the folks who stand immediately outside the doors (through which hundreds of non-smoking Homo sapiens pass every day) of the (state-owned, public) building I work in seem to have found a tangible physical expression for their angst. Something about the way they hold the cigarette and suck the life (or death?) out of it makes me think they’re really workin’ some stuff out with every drag. I mean, can blowing noxious chemicals from your tar-coated lungs into the virginal airways of defenseless bystanders be anything but therapeutic? So hey – I’m in.

Besides, this will apparently turn me into an extreme sports bad ass (who can write in Chinese)…

or a cowboy…

or a smooth jazz camel…

UPDATE: Apparently this is also something I can do with my daughter when she arrives this summer…

This whole girl thing has thrown me for a loop anyway, and I’ve been trying to figure out ways I’ll be able to connect with her. With this new information, I’m definitely in.