Loose Strap Means Floppy Tit
Yesterday at work my husdand (I can call him that now, and it's much easier to type than Mr. Bir Toujour) found a cache of typewritten recollections of smokers. Here's one.
I enjoyed reading them. I think they express the duality of smoking very well. On one hand, it's pretty cool. But on the other, it makes you stink like donkey butt adn plus it can kill you painfully and slowly. I wonder what the smoking testimonies were doing at the law firm where Joe works--they specialize in asbestos cases, so perhaps they have to do with asbestos being in cigarette filters, which would not be surprising. They probably put asbestos in Wonder Bread for a while.
Those smoking recollections made me nostalgic for the days when I smoked. Smoking is only cool if you are doing it or someone in a movie is doing it (especially if the movie is black and white). My Dad has smoked since he was a preteen, I think. I'm not sure when it became a habit for him, but he was a pretty rebellious kid, and it's sort of a prerequisate for rebellious kids to smoke. Especially in the 1950s, when he grew up. He was in a war--Vietnam--and them became an alcoholic, and both wars and the sauce go really well with cigs.
But as a kid I found his smoking gross. I still do. He smokes Winstons and has for as long as I've been around. He smokes in his office, which may be illegal, but he owns the building and the engineering firm, so he thinks its okay. He's probably the last civil engineer in America to smoke in his office.
Dad once quit smoking when he had a bad cold. He was too sick to smoke. But he went back to cigarettes. Eventually he gave up drinking, and he's been on the wagon for...let's see...seven or eight years by now. So he can smoke all he wants, I guess. I perfer smoking/sober Dad to drunk/smoking Dad anyday.
Considering how much I hated Dad smoking when I was younger, it's sort of silly how I picked it up. Like a lot of kids, I was bored. I was going to be a junior in high school. It was summer and I was t home, watching MTV with the air conditioning cranked up. Every day was like that. I was a lazy piece of crap. But one day I decided to switch it up a little, so I went into Mom and Dad's room and got one of Dad's Winstons from the pack that was on top of his dresser (I guess he keeps "home packs" and "work packs"). I sat on the picnic table in the back yard and smoked it. I didn't cough. It was okay.
Eventually I started buying my own cigarettes, Marlborough mediums in a soft pack. Why those? Who knows. I smoked them when I met my friends at night downtown and we ran around outside in the cold and climbed on things like trees in the park, bridge scaffolding, and the fire escapes of abandoned buildings. We liked to get to the tops of things.
In college I eventually switched to Camels. That's because I started dating this guy named Mike. He lived in my dorm and worked at a tobacco shop in a mall. He knew everythign about tobacco products. He smoked pipes, cigars, and cigarettes--quality, not quantity. We'd smoke cigars together, cigarettes. I never did smoke pipes with him, though. He got me into Drum tobacco and rolling my own cigarettes. Drum eventually got bought out by a Japanese company, and nowadays Drum does not taste nearly as good as it did back then. It had a rich, woodsy, almost mossy aroma--fresh, not stale and assy.
Mike dumped me, but smoking was a good way to hang onto a part of him any time I wanted. Plus I had dropped out of school and was pissed and moody all of the time--it was my early-20s crisis. Smoking, which I maybe did every other day, one or two cigarettes at a time, fit right in with my M.O. I'd smoke Camels and Drum, plus the occasional cigar.
A few years later I started dating Daniel, who was like a guy straight out of 1949. He rebuilt motorcycle engines and chopped firewood for fun. He smoked Camels and Lucky Strikes, the same way I did--recreationally, for pleasure and entertainment. We drank coffee and smoked at crummy restaurants. Daniel told me that the L.S.M.F.T. on the side of a Luck Strikes pack meant "Lucky Strike Means Fine Tobacco." I told Daniel how Dad one said to me that as a teenager he and his hoodlum friends made up this saying "Loose Strap Means Floppy Tit." What a teenege boy thing to say. But I say it myself anytime I see a pack of Lucky Strikes.
I left to go to cooking school in New York while I was dating Daniel. I smoked at cooking school a lot, mostly Drum. Cooks love to smoke--it's the only way they can get a break from the line, you see. But I smoked the way some people order dessert--it was another thing to taste and enjoy. Plus I liked the image. Daniel gave me a typewriter and I smoked and drank gin & tonics and typed, which was hard because smoking takes one hand, drinking takes another, and typing takes two. Plus by that time I was usually kind of drunk. I have those typewritten pages somewhere--god knows what kind of screeds they hold.
I dumped Daniel. Cooking school made me selfish. It was what I needed to be to succeed at the time. I was the editor of the school paper, and my stoner friend Matt and I would hang out in the filthy office of the paper and smoke and drink and talk about crap. Or I'd write, work on the paper and smoke. The room was a giant ashtray.
Once I moved to California, I started going to a lot of local rock shows. I didn't know many people, so smoking was a great way to mingle ("Got a light?") and have a purpose. I was bad about bumming cigarettes back then. It's a shameless girl thing to do. A girl can always get a cigarette. It's even easy for me.
But I stopped smoking a few years ago. I lost interest. I lost the need. Probably I smoke three cigarettes a year, and that's if I'm drunk and wound up. I love those three cigarettes, but I hate coming home and smelling like ass. I think Joe is the reason I stopped smoking. Once we started dating, the urge slipped away from me.
Joe smokes in his truck sometimes. American Spirits. I hate American Spirits. He tries to be sneaky about it, so it's fun to give him a hard time. It's okay with me if he smokes a little bit. But I don't want to anymore. It's not as fun as it used to be. That's fine--smoking and I had a great time while it lasted.
I enjoyed reading them. I think they express the duality of smoking very well. On one hand, it's pretty cool. But on the other, it makes you stink like donkey butt adn plus it can kill you painfully and slowly. I wonder what the smoking testimonies were doing at the law firm where Joe works--they specialize in asbestos cases, so perhaps they have to do with asbestos being in cigarette filters, which would not be surprising. They probably put asbestos in Wonder Bread for a while.
Those smoking recollections made me nostalgic for the days when I smoked. Smoking is only cool if you are doing it or someone in a movie is doing it (especially if the movie is black and white). My Dad has smoked since he was a preteen, I think. I'm not sure when it became a habit for him, but he was a pretty rebellious kid, and it's sort of a prerequisate for rebellious kids to smoke. Especially in the 1950s, when he grew up. He was in a war--Vietnam--and them became an alcoholic, and both wars and the sauce go really well with cigs.
But as a kid I found his smoking gross. I still do. He smokes Winstons and has for as long as I've been around. He smokes in his office, which may be illegal, but he owns the building and the engineering firm, so he thinks its okay. He's probably the last civil engineer in America to smoke in his office.
Dad once quit smoking when he had a bad cold. He was too sick to smoke. But he went back to cigarettes. Eventually he gave up drinking, and he's been on the wagon for...let's see...seven or eight years by now. So he can smoke all he wants, I guess. I perfer smoking/sober Dad to drunk/smoking Dad anyday.
Considering how much I hated Dad smoking when I was younger, it's sort of silly how I picked it up. Like a lot of kids, I was bored. I was going to be a junior in high school. It was summer and I was t home, watching MTV with the air conditioning cranked up. Every day was like that. I was a lazy piece of crap. But one day I decided to switch it up a little, so I went into Mom and Dad's room and got one of Dad's Winstons from the pack that was on top of his dresser (I guess he keeps "home packs" and "work packs"). I sat on the picnic table in the back yard and smoked it. I didn't cough. It was okay.
Eventually I started buying my own cigarettes, Marlborough mediums in a soft pack. Why those? Who knows. I smoked them when I met my friends at night downtown and we ran around outside in the cold and climbed on things like trees in the park, bridge scaffolding, and the fire escapes of abandoned buildings. We liked to get to the tops of things.
In college I eventually switched to Camels. That's because I started dating this guy named Mike. He lived in my dorm and worked at a tobacco shop in a mall. He knew everythign about tobacco products. He smoked pipes, cigars, and cigarettes--quality, not quantity. We'd smoke cigars together, cigarettes. I never did smoke pipes with him, though. He got me into Drum tobacco and rolling my own cigarettes. Drum eventually got bought out by a Japanese company, and nowadays Drum does not taste nearly as good as it did back then. It had a rich, woodsy, almost mossy aroma--fresh, not stale and assy.
Mike dumped me, but smoking was a good way to hang onto a part of him any time I wanted. Plus I had dropped out of school and was pissed and moody all of the time--it was my early-20s crisis. Smoking, which I maybe did every other day, one or two cigarettes at a time, fit right in with my M.O. I'd smoke Camels and Drum, plus the occasional cigar.
A few years later I started dating Daniel, who was like a guy straight out of 1949. He rebuilt motorcycle engines and chopped firewood for fun. He smoked Camels and Lucky Strikes, the same way I did--recreationally, for pleasure and entertainment. We drank coffee and smoked at crummy restaurants. Daniel told me that the L.S.M.F.T. on the side of a Luck Strikes pack meant "Lucky Strike Means Fine Tobacco." I told Daniel how Dad one said to me that as a teenager he and his hoodlum friends made up this saying "Loose Strap Means Floppy Tit." What a teenege boy thing to say. But I say it myself anytime I see a pack of Lucky Strikes.
I left to go to cooking school in New York while I was dating Daniel. I smoked at cooking school a lot, mostly Drum. Cooks love to smoke--it's the only way they can get a break from the line, you see. But I smoked the way some people order dessert--it was another thing to taste and enjoy. Plus I liked the image. Daniel gave me a typewriter and I smoked and drank gin & tonics and typed, which was hard because smoking takes one hand, drinking takes another, and typing takes two. Plus by that time I was usually kind of drunk. I have those typewritten pages somewhere--god knows what kind of screeds they hold.
I dumped Daniel. Cooking school made me selfish. It was what I needed to be to succeed at the time. I was the editor of the school paper, and my stoner friend Matt and I would hang out in the filthy office of the paper and smoke and drink and talk about crap. Or I'd write, work on the paper and smoke. The room was a giant ashtray.
Once I moved to California, I started going to a lot of local rock shows. I didn't know many people, so smoking was a great way to mingle ("Got a light?") and have a purpose. I was bad about bumming cigarettes back then. It's a shameless girl thing to do. A girl can always get a cigarette. It's even easy for me.
But I stopped smoking a few years ago. I lost interest. I lost the need. Probably I smoke three cigarettes a year, and that's if I'm drunk and wound up. I love those three cigarettes, but I hate coming home and smelling like ass. I think Joe is the reason I stopped smoking. Once we started dating, the urge slipped away from me.
Joe smokes in his truck sometimes. American Spirits. I hate American Spirits. He tries to be sneaky about it, so it's fun to give him a hard time. It's okay with me if he smokes a little bit. But I don't want to anymore. It's not as fun as it used to be. That's fine--smoking and I had a great time while it lasted.
posted by Lefty at 9:28 AM
1 Comments:
You're right, cooks/chefs do love to smoke. I was walking by the Culinary Institute in SF the other day (the one over on Polk St.) and there must've been about 30 cooking students out in front, all of them were smoking! Crazy. They were out there in their little black and white patterned polyester pants and white jacket things. They all looked so young and like some sort of dorky gang. Chefs are funny people; YONI!
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