Up in Smoke

I want a cigarette. It doesn’t seem to matter that I haven’t had one since last Saturday or that, last Saturday, it was mostly because I drank too much or that, last Sunday, I spent most of the day being nauseated by the taste of furry smoke on my tonsils. It doesn’t seem to matter that I just ran for 30 minutes at the gym. Or maybe clearing the lungs out just makes your body crave re-pollution. Doesn’t matter that the boyfriend (fiend of perfection that he is) gives me the pursed-mouth stare if and when I indulge.

Doesn't matter. Screw it. No use philosophizing on the whys—I just want a cigarette, plain simple direct period.

Now this may seem off the nicotine subject (bare with me) but I watched Alien last night. It is our Halloween goal to make it through the whole series before the big event. Okay, so it’s Brooke’s goal and I’m going along. We don’t really own It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. Not that Brooke would watch that with me anyway. No, he’s the kind of guy that would watch it with me, I suppose, but not without commenting about how Halloween is for being scared, not campy. Gooey fake blood and flowing black garments and chainsaws and outlandish, complicated masks. Not, like I think, for dressing up like Marilyn Monroe or a naughty, sexy little girl scout. (Last year, my brother-in-law wanted to dress up as George Dubya Bush and have my sister pose as the WMD. So he could walk around the party all night saying, “Where are my weapons of mass destruction? Has anyone seen them?”)

Alien is a great scary movie, don’t get me wrong. I jump outta my skin over and over even if I know what’s coming and the whole world that the movie creates, with its silences and empty rooms, is entirely creepy. But even there (here it comes, the point!), even in the distant future, in a galaxy far far away, in an enclosed space with little ventilation where one would think air would be a scarce commodity—everybody smoked! Every f-ing body! They come out of a long nap during light speed and, bang, light one up. Have one hanging out of their mouths while fixing hull breaches or round the table with their bowls of synthetic food. Sheesh!

I think the only one that didn’t smoke was Ripley. Of course, maybe that’s why she survived. The alien was attracted to all those smoke-smelling crew members so it could kill them and steal their luscious, delicious and satisfying cigs. Ah. Sometimes it seems like it would be worth facing an alien with tiny sets of teeth inside medium sets of teeth set in a large head with a large set of teeth. Seems like it. But I’m probably wrong.