My favorite part of The Tipping Point: when author Malcolm Gladwell points out that despite massive spending to try and stop teen smoking in the 90s, the problem continued to balloon.
As a teen in said decade, I must say: no duh fooey.
The govt poured tens of millions of dollars into trying to uncoolify smoking. Gooders of do got carpal tunnel from endless wagging of fingers at tobacco execs for marketing Joe the Camel. Gladwell points out that anti-smoking jihadis never seemed to take seriously the idea that smokers really are that cool.
And dumb, yes. But. Smokers are, on average, just more fun to be around. Gladwell cites research stating them to be bigger risk takers and more extroverted than the Average Joe. So they start out temperamentally ahead in the great bar room charisma wars. But then they reap further social advantages: they get to satisfy an oral fixation without schnockering themselves, they can strike up conversation on the basis of a bummed fag, they're thinner.
Most unfairly, in Mayor Bloomberg's New York, they form a tiny little clique that seperates from the larger group every hour or so and walks outside. There all the extroverted risk taking people chat each other up. Meanwhile, you're stuck inside with the dreck of the table.
And even once they quit, smokers are still better than you: They grab an additional cache of maturity for fighting off the urge, an additional excuse to be sarcastic to their fellow man, and you--schmuck that you are--still always want to help them. You want to help your buddy Jim kick the sticks, man. It's all good Jim. Just chill out, man. Maybe now that you're getting your lung space back, we can start that ska band we always wanted to.
Contrast that with the utter turgidity of spending time with The Dieting Fatto. Not so glamorous when your fat friend Lou is whining about how guilty he'll feel if he has that bacon cheesburger. Lou just sits and squirms and you think When the hell did my life get this boring? Jesus Lou, you sweating blimp, if you could just eat the mayonnaise out of the jar you would, wouldn't you?
Unrelated news, included without segue: our contract for our wedding location includes an "In Case of Terrorism" clause. WTMFingS?
