05/09/12 – Cessation

I remember the first cigarette I lit:  I was in the backyard of my buddy Dan–my “best friend” during my first two years of high school.  His place was in Hatboro, and for whatever reason, my first girlfriend and I were hanging out with him for the evening.  They couldn’t stand each other, but she was attached to me.  Plus his single mother was usually at work or away from home, so it was naturally a haven for the local rejects.

I don’t remember any particular high of that first cigarette, but I vaguely recall getting testy for no obvious reason with my girlfriend.  The rest of the evening was a mix of apologies for whatever words I said and paranoia over my mother smelling smoke on us.  Two years later, I was asking my coworkers to buy me cloves due to the praise I’d heard from my goth friends, only to throw away the packs after a few weeks of disuse.  A year later and I was almost a pack a day smoker of Benson & Hedges, the preferred brand of my manager at Suncoast (Jess Ortiz, the basis of Iris in Coincidence).

I learned that stress = needing a smoke in retail before college.  Alone at the university, I picked up that cigarettes were a great way of being social.  Asking for a light is still my highest rated pickup line.  But sometime during the end of my college career was my only attempt at quitting.  I’m very procedural in my daily habits, so it made sense to eliminate the procedures.  Don’t smoke in the car.  Don’t smoke after meals.  And so on and so on until I was down to two cigarettes a day.  This was all due to my poor finances at the time, but I soon found a job, which happened to be in an office of chain-smokers.  My pack-a-day habit quickly regained its ground.  Until now.

My father-in-law, a two pack-a-day smoker, has gone without a cigarette for two weeks thanks to reading Allen Carr’s smoking cessation book.  Mrs. Phlaux found the PDF version of the book and sent it to me this afternoon.  With a few pages under my belt thus far I find it…repetitive.  I keep thinking about how, if this was a piece of fiction, the typical reader would put it down due to boredom and a writer would dismiss it for poor word choice.  But since it has an overlying objective, I hold on to my Kindle and continue.

I’m hoping this may help me quit, if only due to the financial difficulties of maintaining a 2-pack-a-day household.  That’s well over $4k for those who don’t feel like doing math.  The last time I tried quitting, I grew manic with a need to fill my time.  So maybe it’ll inspire a flood of writing.  Or at least a completed outline for Project: Temperance.  I’ll keep you updated on the progress.

“It’s always darker at the end of every answer” – The Birthday Massacre’s “Midnight”

05/05/12 – Moving Day

I moved the blog from Tumblr to Wordpress this week.  The move has a number of advantages and disadvantages.  One negative is that Wordpress is just so advanced.  The customization and options are far beyond what I want or need.  And yet the Android app for it doesn’t acknowledge many of the options I’d actually like to use.  Tumblr’s GUI is rather simple and easy to use, which I imagine is why it’s known for being a haven for stupid users.

My main reason for the switch, though, is comments.  Tumblr made it far too difficult for a common viewer to engage the blogger.  And ultimately, that’s what I want – to engage people in conversation.  The worst kind of person I can meet is a quiet person.  I may say something informative or entertaining, but so what?  All I want is to hear your story.  I know my own; why the hell would I care to hear or share that?

A problem I’ve had for a long time, however, is that shy people…Well, if they don’t respond to whatever I’m saying, I won’t stop.  I’ll just keep spouting words until there’s something there for them to run with.  And if that something never comes, I’ll continue until I get bored or things get awkward.  You’re the one I want to hear about.  You’re going to tell me about some viewpoint or bit of info that I’d never heard of before.  You’re going to tell me something that could be part of my next story or, at the very least, entertain me.  Maybe even useful.

We consume so much media about others’ lives, but there are so many fascinating, engaging stories in our own neighborhood.  The person standing next to you during the apocalypse will have a completely different tale than yours due to the context, all the moments leading up to the moments you shared.  Biology can get involved too.  Someone who’s colorblind or with better hearing noticed a completely different narrative from you, so how can anyone’s story be boring?  If you’re not entertained by someone, maybe you’re just a poor interviewer.

“It’s what you don’t understand that makes you sharper than the ones who take advantage of you” – Zeromancer’s “Idiot Music”

05/02/12 – Testing New Blog

Moving everything from Tumblr to Wordpress.  Testing its posts to Facebook and Twitter.  Don’t mind me.

04/30/12 – Mawwiage

As soon as we returned to dry land, the question of “How’s married life?” popped up.  (Advice on married life began long before the wedding itself, of course, as if the ability to say “Yes, dear” is something I needed to be repeatedly told to learn.)  I was finally asked by email today, and I thought I’d share with you my response:

Married life is vastly different. There are things I don’t think anyone warned me about. Perhaps it’s like the taste of air. We know what it is and we all assume it’s the same, so we don’t talk about it. The tail for instance. Since it sprouted from my coccyx, I’ve had a devil of a time getting comfortable in my seat. The x-ray vision I suddenly gained seemed interesting at first, but it only appears to work through men’s loafers. I’m still trying to figure out how that’s useful. I’ve also begun to grow hair there. And by there, I mean—of course—my inner elbows.

These physical changes naturally lead to mental and, to a degree, emotional changes. I’m constantly thinking of tail comfort now and wondering if anyone notices it. I’m also constantly disgusted by men’s grooming habits of their feet. The new hair, despite its itchiness, has given me something of a testosterone boost. I now feel more masculine…able to take on the world. Some might say it’s even too aggressive. People at the supermarket were horrified this weekend when I punched a small child in the face. Once I pointed to my new inner elbow hair and gave a wink, they nodded their acknowledgement. Some even took photos.

tl;dr version: It’s good, thanks.

“They are so wasted on myself.  They are so wasted on myself…” – Nero’s “Promises”

04/27/12 – You Want A Revolution?

I got back Monday night from my wedding cruise, and I’m still recovering from the adjustment to “reality” (a word in the English language that always deserves quotation marks).  A few semi-disjointed thoughts to help get me back into the groove…

The ceremony was wonderful.  The cruise itself was great as well, if a little moist for my tastes.  We received one rainless day on Roatan, Honduras, but the rest were mixed with spatters and downright deluges.  And avoid Belize.  Avoid it like the frickin’ devil.  There’s no good or entertainment to be found in that country.  Take my word for it.  Mrs. Phlaux’s already planning the next cruise, though, if that tells you cruise-virgins anything.  I feel spoiled after all the buffets, room service, and constantly flowing booze.  The idea to cruise all year, writing on the boat and publishing through Amazon whilst in port, is incredibly tempting.

I was overly optimistic with my reading/writing goals on this trip, but I still got a fair bit accomplished.  I reread A Midsummer Night’s Dream and The Importance of Being Earnest and got through a decent chunk of The Prince (it’s so godawful, but I’m hellbent on finishing it…eventually). 

Project: Temperance’s first half is outlined.  I know more about the antagonist’s plans.  I’m just so unsure about the why of it all.  There are only a few asterisks in my notes requiring revisits.  The idea of following the monomyth is going well so far, and a discussion over cigars on the cruise with my brother shed some light on the Supernatural Aid phase. 

And discussions with some of my peers helped with my ideas of the 3rd voice (two of the voices are still unnamed, though I keep calling the 1st Alpha).  I’m still uneasy about it and will probably be so until I’m in the thick of things.  I guess it’s an age-old question:  How crazy do you write crazy?  I could take inspiration from my father and be completely delusional.  But a part of me wants to buck the trend in the sense that…Why does crazy need a source?  It seems so cliched to blame it on the parents, particularly the mother (re: Dead Zone), or upbringing (boohoo I got teased for my hairdo as a child so society must feel my WRATH!).  Can’t crazy just be crazy without a cause?  Isn’t there something intriguing about the unrelenting force of insanity without a cause?

Eh, I’ll figure it out eventually.  Right now it’s time to sleep before I become my own schized-out character.

“I’m just the bitch that you need to tear this whole world apart and leave ‘em crying” – Genitorturer’s “Louder”