I'm pretty sure there was a time...

...when cigarette commercials were allowed on television and prescription drug commercials weren't.

Are we better off now that they've been switched?  I'm not convinced.

Even if you argue the costs associated with the health care necessitated by smoking are astronomical, can you tell me these pharmaceutical companies aren't passing on their (equally astronomical) t.v. network marketing bills to their customers and, especially, to the insurance companies?

Besides the Marlboro Man or Mr. and Ms. KOOL seem far less offensive to me than this sailor-clown who's reached "the age of knowing what needs to be done" (wink, wink, nudge, nudge)!

And, remember, I'm not a smoker...and never have been.



Christmas Wish List (continued)

Frank Sinatra's Cal-Neva Lodge Cigarette Lighter!

Of Big Boys and Colonels...

In 1985 when I left teaching at The Covington Latin School to pursue my Ph.D. at The Catholic University of America, the big news was that Big Boy restaurants were getting rid of Big Boy as its mascot. I joked in my farewell in the school newspaper that the rumor that I was leaving CLS to replace BB were, despite the resemblance and indeed suitability of my talents to his position, the story was in fact just a rumor. (If BB did get canned in the mid-80s, it’s nevertheless clear now that it wasn’t permanent.)

I recall this piece of ancient history because this past weekend I’ve learned that Kentucky Fried Chicken is looking to replace Colonel Sanders, as it pushes the new Kentucky Grilled Chicken.

First, I just tried the new grilled chicken, and, while it was very good grilled chicken, I don’t see a need to go the KFC (or is it KGC now?) for good grilled chicken. There are, after all, many places – including home – that one can get good grilled chicken. There is however only one place to get “finger-lickin’-good” fried chicken made with all those “secret herbs and spices”: KFC!

Second, they can’t get rid of the Colonel. A smart company doesn’t forsake Betty Crocker or the Maytag Repairman or even Aunt Jemima or the Marlboro Man. You might update them a bit (or they might die of lung disease), but you don’t get rid of them intentionally.

And, thank you, but, no, I’m not interested in the KGC opening right now; call me again when this chairman gig winds down...

Yet another reason to start smoking...

...retroactively at least...and more specifically smoking German cigarettes.

How many packs did one have to buy before getting that card?

THIRD Hand Smoke?!!

Even after my 12/16 post about my envy of smokers, in light of the story about the dangers of "Third Hand Smoke," I can't but recall the Lennon/McCartney lyric from the White Album's "I'm so Tired":

I'm so tired
I'm feeling so upset
Although I'm so tired, I'll have another cigarette
and curse Sir Walter Ralegh
He was such a stupid git!

Confessions of a Wannabe Smoker

I've never smoked. My parents and siblings never smoked. My wife doesn't smoke. I'm not then, and never have been, I guess, a smoker.

In college, I was in a play or two that required my smoking a cigar or cigarette -- which I then played with outside the theater since it offered me a good prop (or, at the very least, gave me that affected look that only a late-teenage boy from the Cincinnati suburbs might think even remotely attractive).

But there's a part of me that's always wanted to be a smoker.

(Of course, now I wish I were a smoker because my subsequent quitting apparently could add years to my life. Free years to your life after years of cool-looking, and vaguely debauched, enjoyment; how sweet is that?)

I've always liked the smell of cigarette smoke (smoke, like love, is "lovelier the second time around," I guess), and I've always loved the accoutrement of smoking: the cigarette holders, the lighters, the cigar cutters, the ashtrays -- the things that a gentleman in an earlier age would receive (monogrammed) at his retirement after forty years with the company.

THAT'S the beauty of smoking: the ritualistic activities that surround it -- the lighting of a lady's cigarette, the offering of a smoke (from your gold cigarette case!) to a friend or colleague, the careful clipping of the end of a fine (or not-so-fine) cigar, the careful positioning of attractive, yet functional, ashtrays around the room, ...even the cigarette advertisements.

How can we ever really replace Sinatra's "This is FS for L(ucky)S(trike)" or the frighteningly naive ad from his 1946 Old Gold Show:

"The nicest thing anyone has ever said to us is 'If I want throat care, I consult an MD. If I want smoking pleasure, I consult an OG'...That's right, friends, anytime you want a treat instead of a treatment, don't call for an MD, call on an OG." One couldn't make that up.

I was reminded of my wannabe smokerism last Wednesday when, about 7 PM, I was taking my garbage to the curb and, as soon as I walked out into the brisk night air, smelled the cigar of my neighbor down the street. Nightly he walks his dog while smoking a cigar. I was utterly taken by the civilized nature of it all, deliberate puffs during a leisurely stroll through the neighborhood... a man and his dog.

Indeed it's the closest I've ever been to actually wanting a dog. I've thought the better of that, however, so I decided I'd just envy him his smoking.