DAY 2: Impressing a Celebrity With Terrorism

I'm in my old apartment. The one I lived in a year ago with Adam and Mike. I'm sitting on the couch. In walks a man that can only be described as the "everycoach." You know the guy, he is an essential part of the American high school experience. Even at an international school, we still had him. The everycoach is wearing track pants with a sweatshirt and despite the fact that I intuitively know he teaches athletics, he has a gut that says "I'm going to make you run laps while I work on my second Baconator."

I am beyond their timid lying morality, and so, I am beyond caring.
He starts berating me for not being athletic. Though I've never seen this man before it does not occurs me to ask him, "Hey, just who the fuck are you buddy?" No, not for one second does that thought cross my mind, kind of like my relationship with doing the dishes. The conversation drags and devolves into a shouting match until the everycoach relents and says he has a surprise for me.

I turn to look through the window as I watch Cheryl Hines and some other people come inside. I will never see the everycoach again.

"Congratulations!" they shout. Apparently my parents have won some kind of contest and me and all my friends are headed to some kind of concert in Boston on a chartered plane. I take this news as if it were nothing out of the ordinary and head back to my room to change for what I already know will be a fancy event.

It is in my room that I begin to realize things are not as they should be. For one thing life seems as if everything has been infused with a subtle shade of neon. Furthermore, my room is much larger than I remember it being and it's filled with technology that looks both futuristic and dated at the same time (note to self: make this, ????, profit!).

Something is definitely off, I even wonder to myself if I'm in a dream. But no matter, I say outloud:

"Fuck it. Let's go for it. Let's see what else is going to happen."

I put my nice clothes on and head back into the living room where everyone is hanging out and talking, all dressed up, about ready to head out. Then in walks Michael Cera and suddenly he's the life of the party. It's never explained but I imagine he came with the contest. Michael and I get to talking when things suddenly take a turn for the weird, and not the "Oh hai, u won contezt, want come to Bost0n and partai?" type weird. No, this is not the cute lolcats type weirdness. Because Micahel Cera turns to me and says this:

"Hey we should go to a donut shop... in the ghetto!."

Whatever you think this is, it is.

I look at Michael, and kind of nod, because I try, without always succeeding, but I try to not be a dick and make people feel uncomfortable. Michael and I talk more until he eventually stops the conversation dead with this admission:

"I have an actor friend who makes bombs. Do you want to go set some bombs?"

ALL POWER TO THE MICHAEL CERA SOVIET!
And even I, who plays at radicalism, who plays with lofty notions of direct action anarchism, who has fantasized about being an outlaw Weatherman on the run from the FBI, even I do not know what to say to this. I want Michael Cera to think I'm cool, but I'd need a really good reason to blow shit up, like fighting for freedom or half off a Wendy's Baconator (hey, six strips of bacon don't come cheap).

But it's okay. Because now I wake up.

Alright, technically I cheated, this isn't really about my second day off cigarettes. This post was about the weird patch dream I had during my first night on the patch. Also my last night on the patch. It was kind of cool, but uh, no thanks... I'm cool. I'm taking Patchy off before I go to bed. I'd hate to watch a movie about... I don't know, the genocide in Darfur and then have dreams where I'm about to get popped by the janjaweed.

Thus, a quick re-cap of Day 2:

// The cravings were a bit worse today, as evidenced by the earlier posting of the music video for Justice's "Stress," which if you haven't seen, is fucking amazing.

// A girl came into the store today and when she found out I was quitting, literally dangled a cigarette in front of my face. I had to beg to her to stop, this being doubly hard as it was a Marlboro .27, my brand preferida. I don't know if she was flirting or what... But it was obnoxious and a bit rude. Whatever, I look good.

// Definitely felt some irritability right after lunch. This for me is the hardest part of the day to get through. A smoke after lunch was almost always a satisfying experience, and no matter what my schedule was like, this routine was a constant. All meal times in general were usually followed by a cigarette. I think the feeling of being full has become psychologically/chemically linked with smoking. I will have to keep a watchful eye on myself after meals.

// Like I said, I'm sleeping without the patch, I bet I'll still have some weird vivid dreams anyway as the nicotine works it's way out of my system. I do hope they lack that really intense immediacy of last night's dream, I prefer to float through my dreams, not live them like some kind of hyper-real virtual reality simulator permanently set to "subconscious mode".

I'm going to bed.

Cigarettes smoked today: 0.

Day 3 awaits.

Shudder to Think (feat. Nina Persson) - "Appalachian Lullaby"