Thermopylae 01/02/2005 Come with me now as I drift with the wind through the winter city. Through the bleak and gray streets we tumble, stumbling with the dried leaves and yesterday's newspapers in haphazard dance of eddy and spin, down through the canyons of frozen concrete, the asphalt streams of crushed and dirtied snow, in and out and around the hunched and hurrying, heedless humanity. Around their shuffling feet we play, laughing with the wind at their cold discomfort, their hunted look and gritted intent, their multitude seething with meaningless destination, all silent in their grim haste, their various directions, their steeled faces alive with only one determination, their goal the escape from our harrying play.Onward we dance, our fate with the wind, onward and onward till caught by a hydrant, wrapped with a WalMart bag to that cold, silent sentinel. Here captive we stay for a time, pressed about that humble form, assuming its rounded shape and gripping its short, stumpy arms. Now we can see things differently, without the hustle of constant movement, the frozen images of instants lost, the blurred landscape of moving color, all drab and dark. Here our vision coalesces into order and meaning, a view of a street, in winter, a doorway, a huddled group, breath frosting in the bitter air. They stand, not still, feet pumping against the concrete earth, but immobile yet, going nowhere, just waiting. The world hurries by, no attention given.Outward they look, yet with unseeing eyes. Bundled and wrapped in overcoat, boot and hat, they stand their stolid ground."Woohaaah, it's cold." The large one, black coat and gloved hands, he breathes the words in pain and bitterness.The woman next to him, small and stamping, blue hat and coat, pinched white face, through thin dark lips: "Unnnh."As one, they take another drag.In another second the smoke clouds forth, hangs in the air, draws to one side and disappears down the wind. Gloved hands hold cigarettes awkwardly, clenching against the cold, yet dainty with the paper tube glowing at its end. Shuffling, the smokers move this way and that but always in the same spot; they exchange their places only in search of a little more warmth, perhaps a better chance to escape the wind."I don't care. At least it gets me out the office." A brave young suit in buttoned coat, all brazen in defiance. A nod here, a grunt there, they stand with him in union."Bastards." A woman this, proud to swear, bold to flaunt her independence. No shame in her opinion of the insane, unfair and ignorant rules. She stands undaunted by the flow. All mumble in sympathy.A man walks by, hat pulled down and face averted. They stare and glower."Damn three weeks. Big deal, George." A voice speaks for all at the retreating figure. They return to their misery."I gave up once. For a month." This is allowed, this admission of defeat. The pride is in the failure, the daring to return from near desertion. Solidarity resides in continuing, a slip or lapse is overlooked. Those who leave to become new acolytes, devotees of the unstained faith, these are the ones detested.And with good reason. All know the pain and guilt attendant upon the confrontation with a new convert; that haughty look, the heartless statement "I'm better than you", the lecture, the demonstration, how easy it is, see how much better I feel. This is pure betrayal. The bastard knows full well our incarceration, the steel trap that holds us fast. We know how he struggled at first, longing eyes staring as we marched from the room, hearts aglow with anticipation of that first puff, that joyous reunion with the smoke coursing through our starving bodies. Oh, he knew. No need now to throw it in our faces as though we were spoiled children, sent to him for correction and instruction. Bastard.A cigarette falls to the ground, a boot lifts and crushes it. He lights another, hands to his face, cupping the flame as it spotlights his features, the eyes narrowed in concentration, the skin yellow with reflection. "Not going in yet." He dares the fickle diktats of authority.Another shuffle, the group moves round. Three depart. "See you up there," the truncated farewell. "Later," the muttered reply.Two left, one the braggart rebel, the other, cigarette gone, but delaying the renewal of abstinence. "It's okay in the summer." The laggard, trying for sympathy from the undefeated one. But there is no answer, the vacant statement too trite to be heeded. The lingerer waits, uncertain.Then he departs, muttering excuses and cursing at the weather. The lone ranger, still unmoved, smoke drifting from his opened mouth, watches with disdain. He stands alone, the rock upon which the world breaks. Not for him the cowardly entrance, all in a group, safety in numbers, we're back again. No, he'll stroll in when he decides and not care for disapproving looks and disgusted asides. He smokes, what of it?This lonely band, this dwindling brotherhood, this secret sisterhood too, in doorways and back streets, in yards and garbage areas, throughout the city they stand and endure the weather. No matter the cold, the snow, the rain, the frost, they are there, breathing their final smokey statement to the air, huddling once more for mutual protection from the icy blast of storm and public disapproval. What noble heroes, their fate unheeded, careless of consequence, they brave the inconsiderate world.The wind catches us, jerks and pulls us free. With a bound we resume our vagrant career, up and over our friend in the doorway, over the parked cars, snowed to the hubcaps, back to freedom unfettered and the drift in our host, the north wind. Over by the water, the river, we catch a glimpse of the smokestacks of powerhouses, white with the gases of industry. Oh, towering emblems of our prosperity.
Clive
Hannah Hannah was here, and loved it. Owls, too, are among the last few of the "ten o'clock people" (phrase stolen from Stephen King). In my line of work, one is ALWAYS on, and having a cigarette is the only break one can get. Of course, some of the people follow us out, but in the winter, they pretty much let us be. Also, when computing, I use the mouse with my right hand, and need something to do with my left that doesn't involve eating ;) Very descriptive, although you forgot to mention trying to sit on a snow-covered curb, or trying to light the cigarette in the rain. Date Added: 01/02/2005
Hannah hey-- my paragraphs came out right :D Date Added: 01/02/2005
Gone Away Ah, to belong to that hallowed band, that stalwart and unbeaten crew, last of the many, chosen of the undefeated. See them now as they brave the anathema and hatred of the mob, how bravely they stand with head held high, no swords but Marlboros and Winstons clenched defiantly in their teeth, they shout their bold denials at the harrying Persians! What I did forget to mention, Hannah, is that the last redoubt of good cheer and humor resides amongst this band of smoking bitter-enders. Date Added: 01/02/2005
Way Good Greek! Loved it, Gone; loved it. That Walmart bag scene drew a wonderful laugh out of me, too. The whole bit, seen by such an observant flake, leaves me even more breathless than usual. :D Date Added: 01/02/2005
Gone Away Why, thank you Way. And I see you were not lost at Thermopylae... ;) Date Added: 01/02/2005
keeef it sounds cold to me......hold up let me just grab my trunks and head to the beach while i try to recall what cold feels like :) Date Added: 01/02/2005
Ned I have met the most interesting people in nico-huddles. It is one of the few places that strangers gather and unlike in elevators or at train stations and bus stops, where are all suspicious of others, closed off and lost in their own thoughts or a book, these fellow addicts find common ground immediately in their exile and friends are quickly made. As Gone so aptly says "...the last redoubt of good cheer and humor resides amongst this band of smoking bitter-enders. " Hear, Hear!! Date Added: 01/02/2005
Gone Away See how Keef tries to make us jealous with his present location. His latest letter is up in Mad's blog, by the way. Date Added: 02/02/2005
Gone Away Ned: As you know, this piece (avoids the use of the B-word) began as an analogy of blogging. Somehow it transformed itself into something more heroic in the telling however. Still, this is the second piece in a row where you have been part of the inspiration. Thanks Ned! ;) Date Added: 02/02/2005
Way I'm sure I'm affected now; I keep seeing 'end-biters' being used. Date Added: 02/02/2005
Gone Away The "end-biter" is me, Way. I have been known, when desperation hits, to pick up stogies and enjoy a brief, so short, relief. Date Added: 02/02/2005
Ned Well, we are a fine bunch, grateful to be understood, happily depicted as heroes, the last staunch defenders of individualism, of refusal to conform, bravely acting out our free will in defiance of social acceptance and perhaps even our own best interests in health and career. We are all very satisfied now. But there is more. This piece is written so beautifully, so powerful is the imagery, that we bustle through it "hunched and hurrying, heedless humanity", feeling the bitter cold, stamping our feet and inhaling it so quickly and deeply, the rush is immediate. I realized, that nowhere in the world of blogging is there such a blog as this. I stand in the face of such a literary accomplishment and all I say is "yeah, good going mate.. you told 'em". I am ashamed. Date Added: 02/02/2005
Gone Away To have praise from such a one as Ned is honor beyond me. Date Added: 02/02/2005
Mad Hey Dad this was the 50th post on your blog, congratulations on a blog-half-century. :D Date Added: 02/02/2005
Hannah What Ned Said Date Added: 02/02/2005
Gone Away Thank you Mad; have the cake ready with full quota of candles. And where's my pressie? Date Added: 02/02/2005
Gone Away Thank you Hannah. Date Added: 02/02/2005
josh "I love to smoke. I smoke SEVEN THOUSAND packs a day, man -- and I am never !@#$in quittin', man, EVER!" -- Dennis Leary, former smoker Date Added: 02/02/2005
Gone Away Josh quotes the rash words of yet another fallen one. The hero does not make bold statements but rather lets his deeds speak for him. Which reminds me: I should be clear that I am not suggesting that smokers are heroes, although in some ways they are. I merely speak for the modern untouchables in a world supposedly rid of class - and cry: do not despise these brave remnants of a dying breed. Tomorrow we face a world devoid of yet one more bastion of careless good cheer and of sterile existence pampered only by what "those who know what's good for us" say we need. Date Added: 02/02/2005
Madmin Don't mind me. I'm just sweepin'.... *sweeps* Date Added: 02/02/2005
Way I hear cake will kill a man. Date Added: 02/02/2005
Gone Away But not a chameleon... Date Added: 02/02/2005
Josh You know way - Cake is deadly.In some university laboratory out in Cauliflornia, they injected a lab mouse with liquified cake every day for a set number of days. Nothing happened. Being still in good health, and with all his bits intact, they had no other choice that to let him go, an he was later paroled. After collecting his personal items, he stepped forth from the laboratory gate, ready to conquer the world - and was immediately run down by a Hostess truck. Date Added: 02/02/2005
josh Postscript: A left-coast legislator has authored a bill to require that GMC put "This product is know to cause death in laboratory mice in the state of California" on all of its step-vans. Date Added: 02/02/2005
Gone Away Well I live and learn. No wonder Kathy calls it the land of fruit and nuts... Date Added: 02/02/2005
Way Sorry I was away, enjoying some cake that smelled faintly of mouse dro....Oh dear heavens! I just read what Josh wrote! Date Added: 03/02/2005
Gone Away Hehehe. And Mad never did get me a cake.... Date Added: 03/02/2005
Remainderman Late, as usual, to cover the remains. Liked this post - both in style & substance. Acolytes is right. There's a strange New Puritanism out there. The zeal of its adherents is overwhelming. Its doctrine goes like this: you have nothing but your body; smoking harms your body; to harm your body is to act irrationally; we cannot let you act irrationally. This life is your destination -- nothing comes after. It may be that smoking presents health risks to those who smoke (though, not to those who don't). But, there are many more pressing concerns in the world than whether someone, somewhere is lighting up. Let others take care of their own lives; you take care of yours. But, for the New Puritans, this is pure heresy. To them, I would quote Scripture: "It's not what you put in your mouth that makes you impure, but what comes out." And, "Judge not lest you be judged." And, something newer: "Get a life." Date Added: 04/02/2005
Gone Away How right you are, Remainderman. And you have put your finger right upon the nub (stub?) of the matter: the New Puritanism holds that nothing comes after this life. Therefore, it is nothing less than Life worship, whose principle tenet is that life must be above everything, all must be sublimated to it. From such heresy stems the evil that would tell, nay, direct, all to live as the new religion sees fit. Freedom can exist only in a world that admits of a higher power that holds each of us responsible. Then, in fear and trembling, let us make our own decisions. Date Added: 04/02/2005
Remainderman Amen. Date Added: 04/02/2005
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