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Tuesday, May 20, 2003
When I got sober back in 1993, even though AA had all this "one day at a time" stuff (which is truly the way to go, then and now), one of the things that got and kept me off the sauce for 8 years was the private promise to myself: "One day I WILL drink again." There are already too few pleasures in life, and cigs are one of my true satisfactions. Sorry, but it's so. Fuck… I don't want none of them horrible consequences any more than you do, but damn I enjoy cigarettes. And one day I WILL smoke again. Maybe I'll go on occasional binges and do this quitting thing all over again. Maybe better and better cessation measures will keep getting developed and I can keep quitting and resuming all the time, maintaining a serpentine self-abuse pattern even cancer, emphysema, heart attack and stroke can't draw a bead on. For now, though, I can't smoke and I won't. Temptation's been stronger than I can convey, but I deal.
Anyhow, I have not actually smoked. Bought a pack of nicotine-free smokes - which are still loaded with tar (and taste, no doubt, like ass) - as a psychological comfort in the pocket. Have not cracked the pack. Whether I ever do it or not, it's surely way too soon now. In fact, the more horrific withdrawal symptoms are behind me. I feel pretty "good" mentally and there's a marked improvement in my blood flow and breathing. No chest pains, bla bla. I think I'm an ex-smoker, by cracky! And if nothing else can keep me smokeless, it's the twins.
Saw them today on ultrasound! Wriggling and writhing in there… all's well and on schedule. What a strange thing it is to see your own enwombed progeny frugging on the monitor like Sea Monkeys. I have been examining the printouts the ultragal gave us as souvenirs, like those photos you can buy at theme parks showing what you look like shooting down the log flume. The kids look great, thanks. One of them has a face like Van Gogh's "Potato Eaters" attached to a head like that of the Metaluna mutant from "This Island Earth." This one was gamboling, flailing its limbs and generally indicating a boisterous, energetic nature. A go-getter. Full of piss and vinegar. This tells me he or she will get along well with Shelley. The other one was more relaxed; the fetus seemed to be assuming a "John Glenn in the capsule" or "Seamus Murphy on the La-Z-Boy" pose, and I could swear I saw a tiny, itsy bitsy remote in this kid's embro-mitt. Another odd thing I noticed was a sort of Commedia dell'arte mask on the infink's teensy face… Cyrano nose… a real cut-up. Zany, but in a pretentious and antiquarian way. And sedentary. He's all mine. Navel-gazing from the inside. Enjoy it while you can, kids. Life will never be this good again.
Nevertheless, I can't wait until they are out here so I can squeeze their faces into amusing grimaces and photograph the results. I can't wait to dress them in matching fishing hats decorated with pictures of Bing Crosby. Shelley is enduring the tortures of the damned, but with today's thumbs-up on progress, her preggo burdens and my quitter's psychoses are far less troubling. We even heard their hearts beating… sort of like an LTJ Bukem track... pretty cool.
I read some newspapers today. NY Daily News, June 1968. Turns out the guy who shot RFK is a disgruntled Arab named Sirhan Sirhan. John Cassavetes, current star of Rosemary's Baby can be seen with wife Gena Rowlands on ABC's "Suspense Theater." Does anyone recall the opening of that show? Animated stick figures darting through barren De Chirico idscapes. Really nifty staccato music. I'm looking for a video of that.
I'm also SERIOUSLY searching for a tape including the "Carolina… the extra-long-grain ri-ice" jingle. And Fifth Avenue candy bar: "Oh it's the NUTS!" It was on the tube when we arrived home from the Sanders theater after watching "One Million Years BC" and the fresh memory of Raquel's cro-magnificence va-va-vooming in lush fur-o-vision imprinted on my mind in connection with that jingle forevermore. Oddly, I can see the film itself and… nothing. But recalling the jingle gives me that twice-removed mnemonic "zot" mit "Booiiiiinggg!".
Nah, not really, but it's otherwise totally true.
There is some discussion of a new album. While it's still possible to rehearse, I remain open to gigging, too, if anyone knows anyone that can and will play my shit. Yeah, I know... forget I mentioned it.
Anyhow, I have not actually smoked. Bought a pack of nicotine-free smokes - which are still loaded with tar (and taste, no doubt, like ass) - as a psychological comfort in the pocket. Have not cracked the pack. Whether I ever do it or not, it's surely way too soon now. In fact, the more horrific withdrawal symptoms are behind me. I feel pretty "good" mentally and there's a marked improvement in my blood flow and breathing. No chest pains, bla bla. I think I'm an ex-smoker, by cracky! And if nothing else can keep me smokeless, it's the twins.
Saw them today on ultrasound! Wriggling and writhing in there… all's well and on schedule. What a strange thing it is to see your own enwombed progeny frugging on the monitor like Sea Monkeys. I have been examining the printouts the ultragal gave us as souvenirs, like those photos you can buy at theme parks showing what you look like shooting down the log flume. The kids look great, thanks. One of them has a face like Van Gogh's "Potato Eaters" attached to a head like that of the Metaluna mutant from "This Island Earth." This one was gamboling, flailing its limbs and generally indicating a boisterous, energetic nature. A go-getter. Full of piss and vinegar. This tells me he or she will get along well with Shelley. The other one was more relaxed; the fetus seemed to be assuming a "John Glenn in the capsule" or "Seamus Murphy on the La-Z-Boy" pose, and I could swear I saw a tiny, itsy bitsy remote in this kid's embro-mitt. Another odd thing I noticed was a sort of Commedia dell'arte mask on the infink's teensy face… Cyrano nose… a real cut-up. Zany, but in a pretentious and antiquarian way. And sedentary. He's all mine. Navel-gazing from the inside. Enjoy it while you can, kids. Life will never be this good again.
Nevertheless, I can't wait until they are out here so I can squeeze their faces into amusing grimaces and photograph the results. I can't wait to dress them in matching fishing hats decorated with pictures of Bing Crosby. Shelley is enduring the tortures of the damned, but with today's thumbs-up on progress, her preggo burdens and my quitter's psychoses are far less troubling. We even heard their hearts beating… sort of like an LTJ Bukem track... pretty cool.
I read some newspapers today. NY Daily News, June 1968. Turns out the guy who shot RFK is a disgruntled Arab named Sirhan Sirhan. John Cassavetes, current star of Rosemary's Baby can be seen with wife Gena Rowlands on ABC's "Suspense Theater." Does anyone recall the opening of that show? Animated stick figures darting through barren De Chirico idscapes. Really nifty staccato music. I'm looking for a video of that.
I'm also SERIOUSLY searching for a tape including the "Carolina… the extra-long-grain ri-ice" jingle. And Fifth Avenue candy bar: "Oh it's the NUTS!" It was on the tube when we arrived home from the Sanders theater after watching "One Million Years BC" and the fresh memory of Raquel's cro-magnificence va-va-vooming in lush fur-o-vision imprinted on my mind in connection with that jingle forevermore. Oddly, I can see the film itself and… nothing. But recalling the jingle gives me that twice-removed mnemonic "zot" mit "Booiiiiinggg!".
Nah, not really, but it's otherwise totally true.
There is some discussion of a new album. While it's still possible to rehearse, I remain open to gigging, too, if anyone knows anyone that can and will play my shit. Yeah, I know... forget I mentioned it.
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