Going digital...

After a fair amount of consideration and research, I placed an order tonight for my first electronic cigarette. That's right, I'm making the switch from analog cigarettes to digital smoking. This "personal vaporizer" is battery powered, takes nicotine laced inserts, and the second hand effect is nearly pure water vapor... According to the reviews at least. Nothing burns, so there's no smoke in the traditional sense. It has the added value of evading most state indoor smoking bans and FAA regulations as well.

Start up costs are a little steep at $135 for two battery packs, three varieties of charger, and five nicotine caps, but operation and maintenance cost appears to be minimal when compared to the increasing cost per pack of the real thing. If it proves to be an effective substitute and if it stays legal, the cost savings over the course of the year could be significant.

There is always the more intangible and unproven benifit of not ingesting the laundry list of things besides nicotine that analog cigarettes give off when burned. Sure, it's not as good as actually quitting, but since that doesn't seem likely to happen this would appear to be the next best alternative. Besides, most of the truly amazing toys in my life all plug in... Why not bring my dirty habits into the 21st century too, right?

You can believe there will be a more detailed review when the unit arrives.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Easy come, easy go...

I’ve heard of a 24-hour flu, but a 24-hour sprain seems a bit unlikely. Whatever caused the very sprain-like symptoms yesterday has vanished not quite without a trace, but awfully close. Things are a little tender, especially when sudden movement is involved. Most importantly, though, the gimping around and leaning on every fixed object within reach are passed. Those with a more inquiring mind would ask, “What the hell was that?” I, on the other hand, have elected to let it go easy and not ask too many questions unless it shows up again. I could have gone to the doctor tomorrow and pointed to places where it use to hurt, but that didn’t seem likely to produce results other than a friendly, “Let me know if it happens again.” Doctors are pretty predictable like that.

And so, for tonight at least, peace and tranquility again reign ‘or my happy kingdom. You can rest a little easier tonight knowing that in the event of a repeat performance, I’ll be limping my way to the doctor to do battle against it with the best combination of medications BlueCross can buy. Here’s hoping we stay on the downhill side of 36 painful hours in Memphis.

Broken...

I imagine it is theoretically possible to injure yourself in the course of the day while doing nothing more demanding than laundry, dusting, and making dinner. I can’t for the life of me figure out what I would have done yesterday that led to being in enough pain last night to actually wake me up in the middle of the night several times and to very nearly keep me from walking at all this morning. Obviously, something has gone screwy in my ankle, but just how I did it is beyond me. It was being almost unable to walk at all this morning that was most unsettling, even if it were really only for those few minutes. It was a feeling that I would happily be able to live without in the future.

I don’t remember being this fragile. And I certainly don’t remember taking more than a day or two to heal from most anything life could throw at me. There are certain concessions that we all make to getting older, but I hadn’t expected to start paying the butcher’s bill for that just yet. I’m probably not helping myself out by resisting the need to rest, ice, and otherwise give things time to heal up properly. While that sounds all well and good, there are plenty of things that fall into the “must do” category… feeding the dogs, making and cleaning up dinner, and generally getting ready for tomorrow and if I’m not doing them, they’re not getting done. Does anyone follow doctor’s instructions to give things lots of rest, ice, and more rest anyway? Until someone decides they’re going to pick up the slack, my ankle is just going to have to suck it up and realize that it works for me and that we’ve got shit to do.

I’m not good at being broken. I’m sore. Every step hurts. And I can’t just sit around with ice packs and pillows waiting to get better while everything else piles up around me. We all know I’m not going to let that happen, so I’d better get use to popping pills and walking with a pronounced limp for the time being. This should be a fun few weeks.