Non, je ne fume pas

In this months issue of Vanity Fair the piece on Katherine Heigl ( un-assuming yet beautiful “it” girl d’annee ) reports that during one of the interviews she pulled out a cigarette.

I can’t believe smoking isn’t entirely passe in the overly-beauty-conscious SoCal region. It’s not like the social stigma hasn’t been ratcheted to an unthinkable level: to grab a puff while patronizing a bar is to consort with those behind the velvet rope, or hoboes, or, verily, both.

I can at least understand a celebratory cigar or occasional pipe with a fine brandy or when one wants to sample the good things ( hey, a 4-cheese fettucini is right every once and again, but not every meal ) - but the obsessive 20-to-a-pack box-of-death habit is something simply beyond me.

Update: Coincidentally, typographer Khoi Vinh, unbeknownst to me, was writing about his dislike of the smoking regulations in Paris. I’m so glad Austin finally put a smoking ban in place. I remember that when I went out my first step was, always, to wash that ashy smell off of me and and throw my clothes in some room ( not the closet, where it’d stink up the rest of my clothing ).