(This is an example of the White Cloud Cirrus III electronic cigarette. I have tried several versions, and this may be the best I have experienced. Photo White Cloud.)

The skies are blue, temperatures are up, and life (outside the hermetic seal of the Beltway) appears to be well worth living.

This is, by way of modest interest for me, the start of the 15th day of not smoking. I have to heavily caveat that fact- I am still addicted to nicotine, still love it in fact, but visiting a pal who is sensitive to smoke caused me to shift over to e-cigs for the duration of the trip.

At the 72 hour point, I realized that those pesky cold-turkey spiders were not crawling out of my skin, and I had detoxed from at least some of the more intrusive parts of the addiction. I decided to stay with it for another day or two. No big deal.

Having got that far, I have been taking it day by day since. I carry the placebo stick with me, and puff away on the vapor with equanimity in all sorts of places. I know this is an interim step, and that only, but the consequences of the transition are striking: I walk past the exiles puffing away and the smoke is acrid, penetrating- pervasive. Interesting.

I first got the fake cigarettes as a favor to my landlord. She asked if I could smoke near the windows, and regretted not having placed a non-smoking clause in the lease on the apartment in Big Pink. I had not smoked much in my old place- it was convenient enough to step out on the balcony even in the winter- but the two months of enforced confinement in bed recuperating from surgery made that a non-option.

Complying with the owner’s wishes was just one of the serial indignities of renting- but in the process of not smoking at my favorite place- at the keyboard- I discovered that the e-cigs really were not bad as a substitute.

I still have about a carton and a half of real smokes in the cupboard, but have thus far had no recourse to open a pack, step outside and actually light up.

I note the Nannies are attempting to regulate our electronic behavior as well. For reasons best known to themselves, since there is no discernable dissemination of anything bad, nor fire risk, nor anything else. It seems to demonstrate the contention of H.L. Menken, the departed Sage of Baltimore: “Puritanism: the haunting fear that someone, somewhere is having a good time.”

I suspect taxes are at the bottom of this newest wave of oppression from the New Puritans. It is enough to make me want to light up a Lucky.

Copyright 2014 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303